Posts Tagged ‘smoke’

Some things are the same.
The scent of crushed clover underfoot and sweet honeysuckle on the breeze knock me back.
The world holds still long enough for me to hear the measure of my own steps,
my breath,
the birds before dawn.
I crossed paths with a rabbit, two foxes and a stray cat.

Some things don’t translate
to the blue glow of a Blu “cigarette”
with a pale white face in the dark.
In disappointment, I make no acknowledgement in passing.

I miss second hand smoke.
I miss identifying the brand by how it burns in the air.
I miss…

I once had a Stetson fur felt pork pie hat
but I never could grow a proper pencil mustache.
I’ve been told I’m not even allowed to want such a thing.

Too much hair to be considered a woman.
Not enough to warrant shaving off.

Homely but not particularly confused.

You crushed my beautiful hat
and no one smokes your brand of cigarettes anymore.
But you’re still there.

Still in my measured steps
late at night
when all the drunks have gone to sleep
and a stray blue light bobbing in the distance
doesn’t mean anything.

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