Poem: Smoke

The rustle of pockets,

Clicks of a sparker,

Alight with a flame

At the end of that stick.

Fiery embers radiate red,

Flaking, falling off,

Into curls of blackened grey.

The rising smell of death,

Overwhelming the room,

And infiltrating the lungs of passersby.

That risk, that reward,

All in a little stick,

Mixed in with death

And smoke.

Gambling with flames,

Sticks and logs, and rolls,

Lit and puffed to completion.

You're risking it all,

Every time you light

Another cigarette.