Sitting across the way from a cigar lounge, two gentlemen
sitting outside of it, one in a suit, much younger than
the other who's wearing jeans and a tee shirt.
Both talking, puffing on their cigars, sipping coffee and
gesturing with their hands, trying to get their points a-
cross to one another.
All I can think of while watching them is what they're
doing to their lungs and bodies, thinking their futures
will be spent in hospitals, going to doctors and getting
breathing treatments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem