His Daily Ritual

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.