I like the cool and heft of it, dull metal on the palm,
And the click, the hiss, the spark fuming into flame,
Boldface of fire, the rage and sway of it, raw blue at the base
And a slope of gold, a touch to the packed tobacco, the tip
Turned red as a warning light, blown brighter by the breath,
The pull and the pump of it, and the paper's white
Smoothed now to ash as the smoke draws back, drawn down
To the black crust of lungs, tar and poisons in the pink,
And the blood sorting it out, veins tight and the heart slow,
The push and wheeze of it, a sweep of plumes in the air
Like a shako of horses dragging a hearse through the late centennium,
London, at the end of December, in the dark and fog.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Smoking by Elton Glaser )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Study, Clare Walsh
- Have patience like the earth, gajanan mishra
- Rain, Joseph Paintsil
- Haiku, Noah Body
- Capitalist List Esteem Apex Peak Cut Down, Terence G. Craddock
- A million sparkling rainbows, Nick Kler
- selah, don't say la la la..., Mandolyn ...
- Ego Rulers Built Massive Monuments, Terence G. Craddock
- Capitalistic Perceived Important People, Terence G. Craddock
- here's an itty bitty bite, Mandolyn ...