When the Rain Comes

And when the rain comes
Even it's tropic-like torrents cannot
wash away
The excesses of the night before

Even when smudged mascara and
stale sweat
have disappeared down drains
And the body is fresh and clean


There is a smell that lingers on,
One that cannot be named
or even talked about

It clings, as the dirt does to our shoes
It hides beneath our fingernails
Behind our ears

While we try to forget,
It follows us
As does a shadow
Or a stray dog
Or a beggar.

And we may catch a glimpse of it
Haunting our reflection
Tucking itself in
Silently beside us
as we sleep,
And try to dream
Of our emancipation.