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Mouthwash


For my cousin Jeff


His breath.
Like rank seaweed
from the bottom of the ocean.
Like a hodgepodge of 
year-old leftovers in the refrigerator.
His breath.
Like the container 
in a Port-A-Potty.
Like a hundred sweaty children
in a sweltering gymnasium.
His breath.
Like a week-old corpse of a deer
lying on the roadside.

Thank God for mouthwash.



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