That Chemical Sweetness

The dry cleaner's door swung wide,

a hot damp breath came through.

A sweetness, artificial, dyed,

and suddenly I knew.

That cloying, clean scent caught,

a precise, small snare.

It was the fabric softener bought

by her, then left right there.

My first roommate, long ago,

her laundry on the floor.

That particular, synthetic glow,

I haven't smelled it anymore.

Until today, this sudden, sharp

return. A ghost on the breeze.

A single, memory-driven harp

that does not aim to please.

The chemical-sweet air,

it lingers on my coat.

A burden I must bear,

a small, unwanted note.