they are
the margin notes of city life
details optional to any story
they are
the dragon guardians of back porch beer kegs
fiercely discharging smoke thru pursed lips
they lean
in garage doorways
reading folded papers
they sit
on the office building stairs
next to melting snow
pulling unbuttoned sweaters tight
discussing whatever a lit match
might stimulate
they worry
and sometimes even talk
about their weight, children, sex life...
and then
dismiss it all in the brief cease-fire
life will honor with smoke-filled lungs
they are
luckless front porch anglers
fishing with no worms and no hopes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm a smoker, Don - and you just 'marginalized' me, hahahaha.... I should send you MY poem about smoking. Diametrically opposed points of view, ya know?