Cold stone cardboard rot a bite

Cold stone, cardboard rot, a bite

of pennies in the air. The light

wasn't on yet. Smell came first—

specific as a name, and worse.

Board game. Warped. The pieces slid

and rattled when I grabbed the lid.

Half the set gone. Water stain

across the box like a windowpane.

I carried it against my chest

up the stairs. Somebody's compressed

Thursday nights. The smell stayed on

my jacket all evening. Hers. Now gone.