Dedicated to that evil dragon that still waits for me behind every convenience store counter.
Just One More.
I dreamed I had a cigarette.
It's been five years, you don't forget
the tingling white that strokes your tongue,
the warm smoke filling up your lung.
I remember when I was a boy,
the thrill of sweet, illicit joy.
We'd meet behind the school and puff
and talk about our grown-up stuff
When I first met my "Mrs Right"
I opened with "Hey! Got a light?"
My breath, it caught a little bit
as her lips, so gently puffed it lit.
When first our love was consummate
we shared a sated a cigarette
and in the morning we awoke
to a cup of coffee and (of course) a smoke.
Ahhh! The best and worst of times so often,
I shared them with a 'nail de coffin.'
I fear that till the very end
I'll miss my little rolled up friend.
Well maybe if I have just one.
It might be nice, it might be fun.
A friend's old pack was where I looked.
It's been so long, I can't get hooked.
So I placed the tube between my lips.
The match between my fingertips.
I struck the fire. My God! It's lit!
I take a drag. I'M SMOKING IT!
I taste my breath and the dizzy bliss.
But it changes, tasting bile. What's this?
,<Choke> I'm falling to the floor
Well maybe if I have…
… just one more.
You’ll have to come with me
“You’ll have to come with me,” he said.
He looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and threat. His eyes were narrowed and his pupils had shrunken to menacing pinpricks surrounded by gray. His stiff blue suit, emblazoned with official insignia and the telltale wire hanging from his earlobe gave him authority. But his short-cropped hair, steely gaze, and thick Israeli accent gave him power. He had not said “Will you please come with me” or even “Come this way, sir.” He had said “You’ll have to come with me” as if some unseen force would compel me if I resisted. It might, I thought.
