Cigarette Sabbaticals

(Ever notice how "smoke" and "don't" kind of rhyme? Maybe not rhyme, sound similar might be the better word... Theo)


Broken promises and cut
Short
Cigarette sabbaticals
After pulling down to the filter
Where it tastes like a barbers parlor
The hair spray and tar linger…

Throw it down now.
Crush, rub, snuff,
Into the ground.

I’ll leave the cement
And head north west.
Upstate, nature’s pavement,
The granite slabs that
Move in wind
As if they can breathe…

Unlike these city streets
Lifeless and polluted with
Ends of cancer stick butts,
Means of taking each breath
For granted…

Cigarette Sabbaticals
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin