The Real Interior

My brother’s new lease smells like chemicals and pride,

like a factory floor that’s never been outside.

But I climbed back in mine and the air was a weight

of every morning I’ve ever been late.

It’s the damp of the mats and the old coffee spill

that soaked through the fabric and sits there still.

A bruise on the seat where the lid wasn't tight,

and the scent of a life that fits just right.