Smoker Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Smoker

Wish I had brush, paint
And canvas on easel.

If I had what I wish
Would become an artist.

Would use a soft pencil
To draw, the frame
Of old man half folded.

Would be so accurate
That allowed observer
To write, tell story
About him smoking.

With perfect perspective
Would permit the guessing
Of: "This is his third of
The four-time smoking! "

The fume could fly
From mouth, not so high
Like breeze and soft air,
Weak, lacking strength,
And being short of breath!

His right hand's fingernails,
Mainly, mid and index
That hold his cigarettes
Would look like paw of cat
Firming on mouse, carcass.

As one of best artists
Would allow people see
The old man's practice
Of routine, days in weeks.

Then let them imagine
The oldy's ways, manners
Till one day, white frame
Explained old man's death!