From fingertips
the smoke does rise.
With heavy introspection
the cigarette kisses lips,
each new deep inhale
questions are consistently
being asked
one after the other,
and to the next.
The wrong answers fall
and lay on the ground.
In a room that is all muddy,
we start again,
the air is so hard to breathe.
Today is 100% voluntary
sitting in this chair
a deep inhale
you can hear the layers burn red hot.
With a huge exhale
the ash extends itself
hovering now just on the edge
cigarettes have long since
been dropped by friends.
Tension in the room builds,
questions keep getting harder
it’s hard to keep the answers straight
when you’re struggling
to keep the story straight.
On the edge of the chair
nerves nervously sit,
the obvious move is to keep quiet
to simply sit and do not speak.
Hands react to the news
there’s a surprise
a witness to reveal the truth
in amazing colorful detail.
It’s then that the ash falls,
the once vibrant cigarette
struggles now to burn.
Extinguished and no longer there
the lingering questions return,
the room turns in confrontation.
A bizarre mix of confidence and greed,
pupils shrink and tighten
their laser focus is sharp.
The room freezes
at a final admission,
but before we go any further
the question is asked,
“Can I bum a cigarette?”
Dragonfly Poetry 