If I flare the rim of my right
Nostril outwards and up I am able
To suck in a draft of wind from
Anywhere in the valley where I
Sit. I can smell the mud of the
River, the smoke from the factories,
And the hot waste of anger and
disdain. The junk sinks deep and
permeates my blood, it bounces
around between my cells, then gets
caught up somewhere in my kidneys
or what is left of my liver.
Next it passes through my heart
And is infused with all of the
Loving kindness that I can muster.
I flare my left nostril and exhale
Smoothly directing the air up the
Stairs and under the doors that
Conceal my sleeping children. It
Is a menial form of protection but
Arguably Better then nothing at all.
After all I used to fart on them
And think that it was funny.