Smells like February

Wind whipped through office towers,
rubbing sandpaper faces,
and freezing snot to upper lips.

While the elderly swept their driveways,
we dropped ash on the sidewalk,
offered no directions,
tugged our scarves tighter.

The gate was open,
lead to lazy animals,
unused pathways,
rows of graves.

The air was stiff, cool.
The feces lifted steam,
but didn’t stink.