The Smell of the Street
The smell of the street as I walk
out and down the promenade
in Santa Cruz de Tenerife
brings me back fifteen years ago
to when I lived in Aranjuez–
rubbish mixed with dry desert air
mixed with fruit mixed with the odors
of Spanish people mixed with car exhaust
mixed with a hint of crusted dog shit.
That doesn’t even begin to capture
the smell that was so foreign to me,
a young buck fresh out of Minneapolis,
when I first arrived in Spain, that took
quite some getting used to, that
I really could not forget after a while,
that now feels familiar like taking a whiff
of an ex’s sweater or cracking the lid
of a fresh can of smoked oysters in olive oil
because that’s what my dad used to eat.
You try sitting down and describing
a smell from the streets of your hometown.
It will take all of your words
just to capture the tail of the aroma
that flooded your nine year old nostrils
every day without even one conscious
thought about it.