In school they taught
Us about
Potpourri to
Fill the time
So I went to my grandmother’s apartment afterwards
To make my own
To complete the assignment

We gathered pinecones and twigs
Leaves and acorns
Berries and grass
Then arranged the items
In a basket
That I painted red

Looking back there was an added scent
Of her cigarette smoke
Recognizable to my teachers
But not I

She died of a fourth dose
Of lung cancer
15 years later
And it’s true
Smoking caused her to miss out on things

Still
It is a part of who she was
Which is a part of who I am

Now I am drunk
In a noticeably clean restaurant bathroom
With a pungent potpourri
atop the toilet

As I whip it out I think
Sometimes pissing on potpourri
Is the right thing to do