Anosmiac

You sleep fine. Your receptors
Don’t lock on to anything.
Your life’s bland. It doesn’t stink.

It’s never heartbreakingly
Lush and hardly ever sweet.
A faint bitterness. Some salt.

Sour, occasionally, sure.
That’s it. The normal verdict
Would be it’s hardly worth it,

But why not? You know the fire
Is out there. You can see haze
From all the smoke in the air.

You can hear the hovering
Choppers like perverted bees,
Bringing fragile firefighters

Straight to the pollen of sparks
Flying on the breeze. You think,
Might as well wait. Tomorrow

Can consume itself as well
As yesterday. If your bed
Burns, it burns. Might as well stay.