The Life And Death Of A Cigarette - Poem by Margaret Baker
If you smoke fourty cigarettes a day.
You won't feel life ebb away.
But slow and sure the signs are there
Brittle nails and greying hair
Don't make out, you do not care,
About wether it's right or wether it's fair.
The wrinkles sallow looks of age,
Which grow quickly for a weekly wage.
Your lung in pieces rotted away
The pain the hurt and the decay.
All this to be macho fan Looking
Good, but feeling wan. Then your
Dead, here no more rotten to
the inner core. To late to tell
Them what they've done. You have
Lost. The cigarettes have won.
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Margaret Baker's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye