Who needs Dr Who?

When a memory catches me off-guard the culprit is often a scent or smell and the result is time travel without Dr Who's time travel machine.
Who needs Tardis when a whiff of coconut can transport you  through time and relative dimension to your first encounter with coconut shower gel circa 1978 or to a cheap beach package holiday in Rimini  spent basking in swathes of coconut oil?

Here's a poem that wafted out of the scent of a flower.
First published in The Cork Literary Review,Vol. IV

Honeysuckle

I didn’t want to be the little old lady who ends her days

pouring over a box of broken hearts

And so

I burnt, threw out, disposed of, as appropriate

All of you

Then

One day

I stirred up a pot of dried flowers

And with just one motion of the finger

I conjured up

Everything

Honeysuckle…

I had worn honeysuckle

That day

Next day I went out and bought a box of them

I planted them two feet apart

Three sides of my back garden.

And when I’m a little old lady

People will wonder why

I pour over leaves of honeysuckle.