Every morning at 6AM
the electric gleam
and smell of burnt toast
burst to life
coffee
cigarettes, a pack of Chesterfield\'s,
green cellophane paper
glistening
under dim white light
the sweet smell of Maxwell House and menthol
clouded the air
taking over kitchen
and making it meaningful.
It was his time
before the world woke up
and things really got going.
The only sound, the ticking clock
and paper he held sacred.
The sports section whooshed, every now and then
making its own air, springing to life
like a bat
it would take flight
and carry off Pete Rose’s game stats with it.
And there he was
under that kitchen light
shining down,
casting him in regal glory
as he bestowed his wisdom
morning after morning
drag after drag
he had once said
that having a cigarette with coffee
was better than sex.
I didn’t know enough
to know if he was telling the truth
but assumed he was probably right.
Just one more puff
one more morning,
another silence
before he quit it all
for me.