Sunday, January 29, 2012


Temperatures in the teens this morning.

The scent of smoke travels quicker in cold

winter air, there must be a reason for this?

A fifth grade science fact long forgotten.

No one smokes inside their homes anymore.

Peek through the blinds, on my way down

and I see him banging a pack of Marlboros

on the heel of his hand, a custom of many.

Younger ones smack longer, twice as hard

before removing the cellophane wrapper.

Next door, the lady with all the dogs yells

because they’re barking and growling again.

I hear her coughing and know that she must

be fumbling in the pockets of her bathrobe

for the lighter that will start her busy day.

From my kitchen window, I see a big man

in his pajamas, winter coat, and a wool cap.

He puffs away on his Newport, shuffling from

side to side, attempting to keep himself warm.

Days like this must make them think of quitting.