It's really strange to me, I fault the companies
Tobacco companies, Big Cancer
For their inefficiency. All my life
I never smoked a cigarette, not a single one
Nor even a sweet toke - in that respect
Hash cookies did for me, once and decisively.
My Mum smoked occasionally, sort of socially
But Dad, he never did, though he was in the war
I wonder what he did for comfort
To relieve anxiety and pain, when members of his crew
Disappeared without a word and were not seen again.
I must have had a rather stress-free life, how come
They failed to hook me, reel me in at school
No ciggies in the playground. Why? At college
I was mildly into alcohol. That didn't last too long
It was travel, close encounters with the continent
Called Africa that made me wild and high.
I ended up with Big C anyway
But I'm not coughing out my guts at least
Unlike the original Marlborough men
With damaged lungs, cancer of throat and tongue
I managed to escape all that, fell through the cracks
Neither macho nor gay, bohemian, sophisticate
And now it's so much easier. Every place you go
'No Smoking' signs proliferate. For me at least
They do not come too late.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Insightful thoughts on the value of moderation and the idea of seeking less self-destructive ways to experience intensity. I have a few friends that smoke; they claim that it's not so much the high from the nicotine as the habitual gestures and something to do with their hands that keep them puffing. It becomes a way of life.