Guys Guy Poem by Sam Howard

i am standing on a street, there is concrete and there is grass,
there are bottles and there is plastic, fragmented,
lesser parts of something that was whole, something
once that was and now is not, the pieces rest,
the essence lives in a trailer beset by limestone
yards, dirt and sandstone and the rainwater makes
lines in the driveway that you barely feel when you
drive across them in your air conditioning because
rubber trumps gravel and gravel trumps dirt
but nothing changes the fact of your scent
the closeness of your sweat
and the moisture of underarms,
please, i am still waiting on the e-mail
that derides odor and classifies scent,
forward to my desk the results of the
white trash millennial fest
so i might label a man a man
and a woman a test.