What's That Smell In The Subway?

Surprisingly, its not the usual bouquet of aged urine, fecal matter, and assorted garbage left to ferment. The Subway actually smells nice. In the last week and a half, I've seen crews at work at 30th, 11th, and 8th street stations actually mopping. Other times I've come across a slowly drying non-urine film accompanied by yellow signs telling me "Caution Wet Floor" and something or other in Spanish. Yes, they were mopping the subway. Not quite as shocking as the time I saw a pantless homeless woman cleaning her vagina on The Union League Steps (now that would be a great photo for their website—if only I had a camera phone then) but still, it takes one off guard. Isn't it supposed to smell awful? What's next, killing off all the rats? And it's not just pine I'm smelling down there, it's some exuberant pine scent mixed with something exotic—perhaps jasmine or goddammit, maybe even eucalyptus. Did they consult Bed Bath and Beyond prior to this?!

Have I missed this in years past? Does the city, like my landlord, finally begin to clean up with the start of the New Year? Doubtful. It’s always smelled the same. Perhaps, the city has decided to turn a new leaf after we avoided having A DEADLY NERVE TOXIN DUMPED IN THE DELAWARE. (Though the Army's plan—something akin to one of The Joker's diabolical schemes—was thwarted, it would have been nice to see our local officials take a more proactive role in the debate, as their New Jersey counterparts had done.) Or maybe the subway is getting the So Fresh and So Clean treatment because of Prince Charles' impending royal visit to the City of Brotherly Love. Knowing that the royals are secret fans of American football, the city wants to keep the subway tip-top for their Orange line ride to the Eagles' Super Bowl pep rally at the Linc. More likely, cleaning the Subway is the Street administration’s best effort to date to curtail gun violence in Philly. If the subway smells good everyone feels good, and if everyone feels good...

While we search for answers, those missing the formerly stank subway can sooth themselves with a poem I wrote a few months ago, inspired by what routinely attacked the senses at 11th street.

Enjoy. Cheers.

Subtle puddle underneath the subway tunnel
chrome yellow coagulate of razed drome
lays the day to wait away
hurried huddle scurried muddle, that sulk and scuttle
      towards the puddle
where in competition meet
meretricious feculent feet
cacophonous odious olfactory ode
synergous symphony:
"The lees at least the least of me"