warm cookies & cigarettes…


the food was vintage,
and didn’t stand out from
everything else that might have
been going on in
this apartment over
an undetermined length of

i try to think back;
it feels like it was mostly
cigarettes. lotta coughing,
constant taste of tobacco, smell,
that sort
of thing. the evidence in the closet
gets bigger all the time.

i fully expect some
long dormant survival instinct
to spring to life; it just ain’t
happened yet. faith is justified
while cigarettes are
affordable; a man can’t
ask the sun not to shine
before winds huffing clouds off
to some other place.

i cleaned the table days ago,
but the ashtrays are overflowing
again while cookies bake
through the afternoon. i’ll eat them
alongside something to drink;
if the milk hasn’t spoiled
due to inattention, maybe
cereal. easy enough.

in the end, it’s warm cookies,
cigarettes on the side and
underneath. coffee would be too
much to ask, as would a clean
ashtray. one i can take care of,
the other just out of reach.
i must look fabulous;
next time i pass a mirror
i’ll check.

Dedicated to three hearty meals per day. I’m reaching for my pack as we speak, and even I know that it ain’t enough.

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