Work Text:
There are cigarettes in my pocket.
The herbal kind.
No tobacco.
No THC.
I have cigarettes in my pocket.
There’s a blue lighter too.
There are cigarettes in my pocket
of these pants I bought in high school,
when I needed formal-wear.
I have cigarettes in my pocket,
and I fear that someone will see them.
That they’ll see the telltale square and
I’ll be asked why they’re there.
There are cigarettes in my pocket.
I really want to smoke one
but I know the smell will stick
to my clothes, to my hair, to my skin.
I have cigarettes in my pocket.
I should be back inside but
I’ve brought one to my lips.
There are cigarettes in my pocket
and my grandpa is in a box.
I have cigarettes in my pocket
and I’ve promised not to smoke.
I ask myself why it matters,
if I broke that oath.
There are cigarettes in my pocket,
and I have made a spark.
I draw pungent fumes and let it
fill my soul.
I have cigarettes in my pocket,
and my mother doesn’t know.
She stands at her mother’s side,
her brothers close in toe.
There are cigarettes in my pocket
and now it’s four to six.
Four minutes left, I’ll have to say
goodbye.
I have cigarettes in my pocket
and I wonder if he can tell,
as I lean over to say
à dieu.