It was subtle on Sunday
Who's turn was it
to take out the trash?
The sun came out on Monday
A square of light
creeping across
the matchstick wood floors
a hind of fetid
warmth in the air
You caved on Tuesday
and relocated the garbage bag
from under the sink
to the can outside
but the smell was still there
On Wednesday
we sat
at a corner café
and were lingering
over coffee
when I caught a whiff
It was still in my hair
On Thursday
you said
you had to go in to the office
But I knew
you were leaving me alone
with the smell
that had not yet gone
When you opened
the cabinet
to retrieve your lunch bag
the fetor
sprung forth
like a trapped animal
all claws and snarling teeth
the bomb squad defusal
of your lunch bag revealed
The apple core
had been forgotten there
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