He was smoking outside the pub.
I guess I was into the fact that he
so willingly destroyed a part of himself inside.
I hold onto things.
I grip onto cigarettes but never light them.
I never set the flame.
I never burn things.
I was wearing a ratty old tee shirt when
he came to say hello.
I didn’t expect him to come say hi,
so I didn’t plan my outfit accordingly.
I guess that’s how life is, really.
He put the cigarette in my mouth,
but I wouldn’t inhale.
He’d rather watch my face turn blue
than give me a reason
to wear ratty shirts.
He had outdoor cats,
the type that run around all day
but come home at night.
They somehow know they have a home.
They somehow know they want a home.
Sometimes I wonder if homeless people
have no home.
I wonder if homeless people spend
their loose change
and if so, I wonder if they light them,
and if so, I wonder if the smoke
gets trapped in their ratty tee shirts.