smell of money

To say a dollar tastes like the tin blood
of a mouthcut us too easy. No no, money
is all about smell. It's scent runs closer
to a stubborn patch in the air, a shock of
winter wheat on a forgotten plot. Certainly
a buck can ride up from a bag of fried chicken,
or billow like car exhaust in traffic, burning
your lungs and leaving you breathless. But don't
discount the fragrances money can't buy - like
lillies atop tradewinds, like blackberries on a
shimmering summer morn. If money has a native
scent, it is a tree, hanging from the rearview.
That's the best a dollar can do. The smell of
August pines, of dirt and grubs, of the wildflowers
in the meadow over the hill is beyond money's grasp;
a dollar cannot touch it. Oh, but money wants,
wants, burning like midnight neon as it tries.