The Nose Knows I sit in the field surrounded by grass All different but same in one big mass. Some short, some tall, some big, some small, Indifferent, they stand like one big band. The weeds come up as they always do To spread disease through and through. A white disease of powdery form, To hit the field in one big storm. They sneak it, in and once it’s there, It causes pain and much despair. It makes you strong, it makes you smart, But when it’s gone you fall apart. Your body falls.  You start to cry, "Wake up son, before you die!" Another present turns to past, Dead from a sniff of the cocaine blast.                                                      Thal Dixon                                                      Previously Published in                                                      Even a Rag Like This                                                      1989                                                      Needham High School Publications
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