by Kellie Asmussen

A different scent visited me before.
This one, I learnt in Nam over two weeks
of shared meals and numerous Tiger Beers.
Still, I stopped and searched
knowing you were near.

I felt it again
within a country pub’s racket and jig-sawed crowd.
All I saw was the kept beard
indicating spoken words to others,
not me.

Months before, it was through a café window
when your beanie-clad boof approached for mornos.
That day, the sausage rolls stayed in the warmer.

Perhaps you sense it,
that auto-pilot difference you took.
You replaced shards of happiness with dismissiveness –
too emotional to a fault, you put many offside.
It made me laugh, telling you to grow up,
too many years my senior.
All you could do was give me a t-shirt,
socially offensive,
maintaining your point to the last.
That shirt,
the same one,
is hugging me now.