For Gordon as he Sleeps

June, 2004

You think I quit a year ago,
But here I am again, out on
The porch. A blazing cigarette
Exhales a lazy, pungent gash.

It's 2 am and in the dark
I watch unblemished paper spoiled
By creeping molten ash. A long
Expanse of spent tobacco grows.

I curb the urge to smoke it, and
I wonder how I can delay
Its unavoidable demise,
Of shuddering into the air.

It stays contained until the heat
Has singed my fingers tender, then
Collapses onto my white robe.
A hazy blemish lingers there.

My final smoke went impotent
Before I had a chance to take
A single drag. I.ll have to buy
Another pack when I go out.

I can.t believe I chose to chase
An even bigger folly than the
Risk that keeps me up, and drags
me out of bed so late at night.

I will no longer sacrifice
Our health for my indulgent thrills.
I will control my urge to run
With vices when I need to cope.

I will rely on you instead
Of run to someone else. I will
Let old things go and quit this act
Before I am found out by you.

I creep inside the house and slip
Into the bathroom on my way
To bed. I wash tobacco ghosts
Out of my hair and brush my teeth.

I want to tell you everything
But I instead curl up beside
You in the dark and vow to quit.
I wish your breathing body could
Absorb from me the truths I keep.