Monday, December 13, 2010


He says,
“We’ve got to have a talk”

So I light a cigarette
A dirty little
Nervous habit

He says
“It has been beautiful”

And I smile
Because I am an idiot
And run my tongue across
The filter tip
Of my cigarette

He says
Something about life’s paths
Something philosophical
Something that reeks of such bullshit

I can’t look him in the eye

So I look instead
At the glowing red tip
Of my cigarette

The tiny red tongue
That licks circles around
The fragile, skin-like paper
Leaving soft gray ash
In its scorched wake

The ash is like old lace
It’s pretty
I think irrelevantly

And he is still talking
And my cigarette
Is still burning down

He says
“Things change,
You’ve changed,
I’ve changed.”

And I take a gulping drag
And choke
On the bitter, acrid smoke

As though it were my first time

He is still talking
About life’s paths
(At least, he thinks
I think he is)

While I contemplate
My cigarette’s
Scorching red tip
And violence
Which is never the answer

(What was the question again?)

He says
“Do you know what I mean?”

So I nod
And he looks so relieved
So relieved

My hand moves then, and
The pretty, pretty soft gray ash
Lands on the floor
My cigarette’s

Tiny red swirling tongue
Looks vicious now
And keeps moving downward

He says
“It has been beautiful
and I will always…”

But my cigarette
Has reached
The end of its patience

1 comment:

  1. this is very nice. you should have submitted this to smoke but subs closed last november.