how much oxygen
in your fingers?
one hundred per cent sat
ninety-five
how your lungs must work so
when you love your cigarettes
do you know
that this is dying
I wonder
do you care
light another cigarette
old friend of mine
old fool
~
how much oxygen
in your fingers?
eighty-eight percent sat
eighty-three
feel the world start closing in
but still
another cigarette
will help to clear your head
let me light you up
old idiot old friend
I can see you're fading
anyway
~
how much oxygen
in your fingers?
sixty-five percent sat
down
to thirty-eight
and you don’t feel much like cigarettes
with an ambulance in your doorway
to put the mask across your face
try to breathe
while the machine’s still yelping
breathe
for life is all there is
dear boy
~
how much dioxide
in your fingers?
I fear
there is no room
there is no room
for
anymore
~
-
Author:
Frank Prem (
Offline) - Published: January 11th, 2018 00:39
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Offline)
Comments4
Wow,...on that note, think I might.
Great righting.
Cheers El Pretz. An old school friend. Died last year.
Cheers Frank, I meant no ill will.
None taken El P. All good.
Powerful message in this well crafted great write.
Shocking to have someone with oxygen sats down around the 40's and lower. Not a lot of time left, in this case.
A brutal addiction it is. I watched my father and a brother battle it and slowly die from it. Great poem here, Frank! An important message well delivered.
I gave it up for love, Louis. Good job, too as I suspect I'd have succumbed to nastiness in the end.
Cheers.
Cheers to you Frank!
Cheers to a long lasting
life!
A poignant write!
A nasty addiction
to say the least!
Glad you gave it up!
~Laura~
There are whole novels or autobiographies in the attempts to give up, the recidivism, the second tries and so on. I'm properly rid of the habit now and won't ever take it up again, but my first effort lasted 13 years during which I never once felt free even though I wasn't smoking.
It's a cracker habit, all right.
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