Smells

The bus snorts out of its exhaust pipe,
I smell it as I clamber aboard.
The lady in front of me smells of Lavender
it’s my favourite.

The ride doesn’t last long
I disembark to pollution
thick and greasy.
I sniff into my hanky.

At work glue pots are given out,
lids come off and the brushes,
faceless hairy heads, dive in.
My stomach adheres to sickness.

Fingers feel pain,
I paste the seams,
clear plastic containers,
to hold towels kept clean,
ready to sell.

Breaktime, I dive to the toilets.
The sticky room turns into a
room of smoke.
I can hardly see my way to a cubicle,
I choke back the mist of tobacco.

Never, yes never am I going to
work here again.
I’ve stuck it for two weeks.