Tonight's Poet Corner: I Smelled Bacon
I Smelled Bacon by Belinda Roddie It was everywhere. I swear, the odor - fucking everywhere. On my jeans, on my shirts, on the sheets of my bed. Even on the seats of my girlfriend's car. It wasn't accompanied by any other savory aroma. No bleu cheese, no chicken or barbecue. Not even a fluffy pancake to rival the salty jab to the nostrils every morning at six am when I woke up. So finally, I told myself that maybe, just maybe, having a "Cook and eat bacon anywhere" rule in my apartment wasn't necessarily the wisest idea when I had three unshaven, goofy, and very pork-enthusiastic roommates abusing the frying pans and sizzling enough butter to choke a horse.