Her cotton, floral skirt
and fresh white blouse
smelled of Lenor.
With eyes closed
she imagined wild flowers, summer meadows.
Outside, her head spun
from fumes of petrol.
She stepped carefully
to avoid what thoughtless dog walkers
had carelessly left,
her nose wrinkled as the flies buzzed.
The florist -
an oasis in a desert of disgusting odours.
She bent eagerly over a large tub of Sweet William -
her favourite flower.
Why can't the whole world smell like this?
She sought out the bakery
where soft bread rolls
tempted her from their cooling trays.
She bought a dozen,
carried them close to her,
breathing in their yeastiness.
She stopped at the coffee shop,
ordered a dark, rich Expresso.
Not for her the Skinny Latte or Cappuchino
beloved of the fashionable
whose long, pinched noses
never allowed entry
to the sensuality
of a full flavoured coffee bean.
Her journey, like her life;
devoted to beauty;
to glorious aromas;
to pleasure.
Neighbours Scented products.
Made it home ok thanks all. Another day another saga. 
Very much just for fun 💛💚💙🩵
Sunday’s Poem - Somebody’s Mother
