Smells drifting.
Carried on by the slightest breezes,
they reach my nose.
Humans, horses, pigs, sheep, and cattle
all let their droppings drop
to the street below.
Leaping over a pile
of what I thought was mud,
I reach the market.
Wretched scents of
unwashed bodies.
Rotten apples full of maggots
fill the vendors’ crates.
The baker proudly displays
a loaf of bread that
smells like blubber.
The revolting odor
of rotten eggs,
sulfuric, putrid smell.
‘Round the corner
I can barely make out:
last weeks hanging, still hanging...
decaying flesh, gory blood
spill on to the
trash covered street.
Dead fish smell
like the sea and
seaweed (still attached).
Welcome
to my life of
rot covered smells,
right here
in Camelot.