Vent

Something hit me on Halsted.

Warm air, knee-high. Laundromat vent.

Hot cotton. A detergent I can't name

but my ribs could.

Stopped. Turned back.

Tried to catch it again

but it had already mixed with exhaust

and the street had taken it.

Ten seconds on the sidewalk

like someone tapped my shoulder

and wasn't there.

Whatever year that smell belonged to,

it didn't want me visiting.