Powdered

The blind fold removed
he stands
awaiting his fate like a gladiator in Rime
Then it comes, like a gentle snow falling lightly down.
Baby powder.
An aroma is aroused,
a smell,
just like a baby.
He mutters, "so that's what you were doing"
and we all stare,
transfixed,
on the man with the baby powder.
Then it stops.
A sigh of relief.
And then, a simple poem.