Smoke
Knotbrook Taylor
passed through the home
a will through the stillness
by the smoking room door
where hung in the room
from their cigarettes
caught low in the sun
curling the air
beautiful arresting
like cream in black coffee
slowly diffusing
slowly polluting
the only thing moving
midst motionless smokers
chokers from childhood
near to the grave
habits die hard
but these will die harder
they've cheated the odds
full of stories and silence
clichés and silence
swearwords for silence
coughing and silence
little seeming to know
little seeming to care
if news were to come
of another one gone
Published in Spinners
and Spoons, 2005
(Koo Press)
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