1
Couldn’t walk out the door
without the patting of the pockets.
Had to hear the reassuring pants rattle
- little wood against little wood,
red nubs forward, blacks back
And the shirt pocket plastic plop
of the ready-rubbed tobacco packet
Needing to be so armed
to take on the day
and not be a bot
The thrill of tucking in the Tally Ho paper
behind the tiny finger-log
of moustache-like tobacco,
getting that roll right
before the crowning lick
And then the poke,
even a black-dead match will do
and the twirl for the mouth end
Moisten lips, insert,
- now the striking of the match
2
Never looked cool
Never felt cool
Anyone watching me light up
would cack themselves
James Dean never
went cross-eyed
I miss the way
those inhalations and exhalations
inhabited my system
charging me
No more stoking
the engine of being
Feel a little like
an unhitched caboose
bw
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