Smell of bacon on a woman

Over the years,  listeners have sent me greetings and gracious compliments, records and cd’s, books and scripts, but this week a woman named Naomi sent me something I’ve rarely, if ever, received.   She sent a poem inspired by a random comment I made to Mary Dixon.  We were talking about how men and women respond to different aromas and I said, “I love the smell of bacon on a woman.”

Naomi’s email and poem are below.  I think you’ll enjoy it.

I wrote this poem January 27, after listening to xrt on my drive in.

on a morning when anything is possible the sun is shining in january and the radio whispers I love the smell of bacon on a woman      on a morning when anything is possible the coffee is bitter and the donut too sweet but its cold outside and the bank said one zero degrees at seven fifty-five and grandmas hair is like a little boy, like our little boy, who lights up when he sees her and screams     in utter

joy at the triceratops on his wall on this morning, anything is possible       the keys under tori amos’ fingers bump each other like bubbles while the cords in her throat vibrate like our little girl who plays with sound like a toy like a puzzle like playdough to be molded you can feel the vibrations

in her small chest      I love the smell of bacon on a woman which makes me laugh out loud and I wonder if this is only because of the caffeine from the bad coffee but the sun is shining and its the middle of january and I’m driving down ridge road the ridge of the sand dunes the highest point between here and somewhere else a beach really, in the middle of this crapped out life, this crapped out city where the windows are boarded up and we are all

hoping obama will still love us will still save us because this morning, anything is still possible and a beat up early hybrid car is a workin car isn’t

snufty and poofie anymore it’s a workin car, like de-troit and a steel mill worker, its beat up and so am I since I drink bad coffee and make nothing and don’t

sleep enough with our two babies but grandma came today and is making pot roast and my husband dreamed last night about making love to me so this morning, smell of bacon on a woman, or smell of gasoline on my gloves, smell of bad coffee on my breath, the sun is shining on the crisp air and on the salt smudges on concrete and shot cars, and anything

is possible