Cigarette Culture

Three fellas in their early 20s
neither boys nor men
tired of waiting for the time to pass
so we drink ourselves ahead

Inside the jukebox wheezes out the Charlie Daniels
Band, as we sweat in our seats
and take turns at playing pool
I cough down a shot
and I blink

Gary raises a glass
then throws back his head
to draw in the smoke
that ascends, ribbon-like
above our heads, a magical smoke
which carries the soul
aloft to the land
of the dead

Ivar orders a drink
never showing that he's drunk
and runs a thumb along the lining
of a cigarette -- he tried to write
a drunken poem like Rimbaud
but after a minute, frustration
grabs the paper and tears
it into fragments

Each guy comes out
smelling the same
wandering and reeling
all saying the same thing
that they've got a flaming sword
for this bright world

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