Pheromones Were In the Air by Milton Ehrlich
He saw her elegant face on a Satsuma vase,
but discovered a loneliness gnawing her gut.
She, sad as a weeping widow in explosive licorice—
he, trying to cheer her up with his Charlie Chaplin
song and dance routine.
He often thought of Confucius’ advice:
It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.
His patience, and a mutual scent of pheromones
from the sex in her garden of flowers
catapulted them up to dance,
leaving her dishwater days behind.
Milton P. Ehrlich Ph.D. is an 88-year-old psychologist and a veteran of the Korean War. He has published poems in The Antigonish Review, London Grip, Arc Poetry Magazine, Descant Literary Magazine, Wisconsin Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Christian Science Monitor, and The New York Times.
