Outside, the office exiles
like restless puffins
kick at the butt-strewn ground
anxious for that precious
first (in)hale, sacred blue
(ex)hale of warm smoke.
Human chimneys of white
fashion a camaraderie
built of matchsticks
& lighter fluid
comparing notes on carton specials
& first times caught by dads.
Throaty phlegm reswallowed
they discuss the decline
of justice & Western civilization.
Nicotine lepers forced out
butt not out really–dead
right in their own minds.
In snow-covered alleys and lean-tos
they compose bold speeches
for the great comeback
& plot revenge
on all of those who don’t.
……………………………………………………………………………………..
Some of my best friends once were teachers who smoked. The first smoking bylaws arrived in the ’80s and gradually it became harder to smoke indoors, then near workplaces and now just about any public place. Having said all that and looking back, I can’t say I sort of blame smokers for being resentful. ironically, they have truly become lepers of our society.
The poem is, of course, an absurd, extreme ‘study’ of a given specific context–the smokers’ world. I visited it now and then and even took a drag or two, and poetically, absorbed–along with the smoke–the gist of the sensibility and arguments, and so forth. I will just add that to write about or know a context takes observation skills, empathy, imagination, and sometimes a sense of humor.