Passed the hardware store the doors open wide

Passed the hardware store, the doors open wide

like a mouth yawning, letting out

that specific cloud.

Sawdust, sure. A tang of solvent, yes.

And something else,

that metallic, dusty, almost sweet

oldness.

It hit me, hard, right in the chest,

a phantom ache.

A jolt of somewhere, some old house,

some garage where sun slanted dust.

But it vanished, before I could pin it,

could put a name to the feeling,

the room, the day.

Just that ghost of a smell,

leaving me standing there,

half-remembering a feeling,

not a thing.