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.