Police - You Know Smoking Is Not Good For You Poem by Paul Warren

It was a cold clear winter’s night on an ordinary day
When he decided that in this life he wouldn’t stay
He walked around the streets and smoked a couple
Then at Bowden Station he decided to end his trouble
There was no one around and he climbed on down
Lying on the tracks to wait for the Adelaide bound

The track was the pillow where he rested his head
He thought of all the things that he learnt to dread
His family had given up on him the drugs had finally won
He lit a cigarette knowing it would be the last one
We found him that way after the train had left
Lit cigarette in hand and his severed head bereft.

© Paul Warren Poetry