I can never smell Axe Body Spray
Without my eyes tearing up from the stench.
I remember its exhaust
Fogging up the 7th grade hallway.

It seems to encompass you.

As we sit in the chorus room,
The eyes of the students are focused
On the colorful throw-up on the floor:
Boomwhackers littered on the expanse of gray carpet.
The walls choking me, bursting at the seams.

The sound of the As vibrates up my hand.

You’re hunched over your desk,
Your neck hooked over your tanned arms
Like a vulture seeking prey.
The smell of Axe
Is seeping out of your pores
Like a noxious toxin.

The Bs and Cs join in, thumping like a heart.

You turn to me
And give me a toothy grimace.
You divulge,
“Hey, your mom was a great lay last night.”

The Fs and Gs explode in a great crescendo.

My E lays on the floor,
And I know it’s long enough to reach you
To strike that smirk off your face.
Instead I whack a single beat, roll my eyes.
Pretend I didn’t hear.

I leave you to your perfume.