You smell like the underarms of brawling men

in the dark alleys

like rotten garbage covered with maggots

like a rat infested sewer

like a pigpen, like the only outhouse

at an outdoor concert, like canned sardines,

a rotting corpse

a plate of liver

a sick child’s puke bucket.

Like a dung beetle’s mouth

like the shit-bucket in Saddam Hussein’s spider hole,

a cat’s litter box, a chicken coup

full of rotten eggs

like a dog caught in a hurricane

like a murky swamp

a radish belch, like an India food store

with all the bottles of curry opened, like a family

of skunks, like a dishcloth

lying wet in a sink for three weeks,

the breathe of someone who hasn’t brushed in a week,

a crowded bus full of people who just ate garlic,

the rotten flesh of a gangrene infection

like milk two years after the expiry date

like a marathon runner’s sneakers

like a football player’s bag

after the Superbowl, like New York City’s

garbage dump, like a cattle barn

like the stench I smelt when having an afternoon nap

and was awaken by a dog’s panting face.