“Crayola Census”

crayons
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“Crayola Census”

 

When I smell colors, this is what I see.

The brown smells like wet cardboard and soggy Rice Krispies languishing in a stodgy bowl in a dirty sink full of dishes.

The black smells like licorice flavored liquor and settled smoke obscuring my vision on a deathly autumn night that seems to last forever.

When I smell colors, this is what I hear.

The white smells like vanilla candles burning special, on vanilla birthday frosted cakes, too, too sweet.

The red smells like angry acne and sweat from a sleepless summer nights of rejected sexual advances, festering in a marriage bed growing toward displeasure.

When I smell colors, this is what I taste.

The blue smells like the mystery of a shadowed ocean being overlooked by a winter’s dark starry night above.

The orange smells like corporate cubicles during rushed at-desk lunches, peels peeled of pride and dead inside, cleaning the clogged dreams with citrus solutions.

When I smell colors, this is what I feel.

The green smells like the verdant vegetative estates of spring sprawling out into the forever, ground up for health drinks consumption.

The purple smells like mountains majesty and spiced plums bruised by vascular varicose varieties.

When I smell colors, this is what I smell.

The peach smells like generalized skin tones of nude pantyhose on a Kmart shelf hanging suggestively from a plastic egg packaging.

The grey smells like the ashes of dead relatives left on counters at mortuaries and funeral parlors sealed with precision so all that is left materially cannot escape order.

 

 

 

 

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Observations on a Recent Consumer Safari…

shopping

words overheard: “I’m allergic to lettuce.”

sights seen: a little girl in a princess costume dancing to her own music

things felt: the cold hard metal of a shopping cart as it rammed my calf

odors smelled: the rancid citrus urine from the plastic bathrooms

tastes collected: the cinnamon granola samples given by sample trolls

words overheard: “Put it down! You’re not getting it!”

sights seen: A leather toupée, I repeat, a leather toupée

things felt: the heat blower blowing hot air at the entrance door

odors smelled: popcorn and pizza from the convenience cafe

tastes collected: a small sample of a dumpling dipped in salty soy sauce

words overheard: “If not for bad luck, I would have none at all.”

sights seen: a shopping cart full of bad food choices being pushed by a 376 lb. woman

things felt: guilt for judging the 376 lb. woman

odors smelled: the overpowering smell of rubber in the automotive area

tastes collected: the creamy zip of tangy sherbert

words overheard: “How do you..she don’t like that…hunh?

sights seen: yes, stretch pants with stirrups

things felt: the dodgy broken shopping cart wheel sticking again

odors smelled: the wafting cloud of store bread being baked

tastes collected: pleasantly delicious mini hot dog bagel combo

words overheard: “Helen, do we really need that?”

sights seen: High School Musical paraphernalia everywhere

things felt: the stares of people as I dance to my own music

odors smelled: wet sawdust that covers the vomit near the rugs

tastes collected: my own bad breath from eating all the samples

words overheard: “I can’t do that right now, Shelia. I’m on break for cripse sakes!”

sights seen: stranded shopping carts full of misplace items

things felt: my leg falling asleep as the lady in line argues every total

odors smelled: the exhaust of passing cars in the parking lot

tastes collected: the last swig of flat coca-cola classic left in the car overnight