Begins with a delicate flick.
The sweet smell of sulfur is followed
By an orange glow from the kindled tip
Bursting briefly into a big white billow
That dwindles into a slender wisp
As I settle down to hazy remembrance
And evanescing oblivion.
Two fingers and a thumb effortlessly balance
A smooth, stout, oily instrument
While my pursed, pensive lips blow clouds
Toward the ceiling, sending my fatigue far away
Or forming my amorphous artwork into meditations
To share with others.
The phone is ringing, she tells me once, then twice
But I cannot answer it right now.
I'm smoking a cigar.
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