Punks

Remember punks? That luscious smell
Brings back my childhood days
Of country summers, where I'd dwell
In youth's more simple ways.

We didn't have TV or phone
Or internet or Kindle;
Yet time was precious, all our own -
We couldn't see it dwindle.

On sultry nights, we'd strike a match
To set our punks aflame,
Then blow until our nose would snatch
The scent that slowly came.

The wisps would rise and we'd inhale
That sweet and smoky flavor;
And every time, we'd never fail
To deeply sniff and savor.

The purpose of a punk, I think,
Was keeping bugs away.
That yummy smell to bugs must stink -
At least that's what they'd say.

I don't remember if it worked -
It didn't really matter -
But we believed that power lurked
And so the bugs would scatter.

The other day I found a punk
And set its tip to burning.
Before I knew it, I was sunk,
My summer youth returning.

Amazing how a certain scent
Can cause a reconnection
With years that long ago we spent
And think of with affection.