This place smells of dude funk, leather,
and some oils my nose
can’t place.
I’m here to purchase
the perfect present
for überfemme I’ve
been matched
with in an internet
gift exchange in honor of
the supposedly
coming apocalypse.
I wonder through aisle
after aisle
eying total scent
removal body washes
as my young lady’s boasted
of foraging skills
will be foiled by
the scents I’m certain
she bathes in.
Compasses and
paracord also appeal,
as do battery powered
lamps to be mailed,
of course, complete
with batteries.
But, for today,
I leave with nothing
bought;
but head full of
ideas
as I hope for lower fees,
but similar items,
at my local flea
market tomorrow afternoon.
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