First Smoke

Little smoky thumb, how I’ve missed sucking on you! My head floats on its stem like a flower that’s just been pollinated. In the seven years since I broke the habit, every cell in my body has been replaced at least once, but my fingers still remember exactly what to do, juggling the huggermuggery of matchbook & rolling paper, ashtray & ash. What other parts of my new/old body have inherited secret flaws? With growing detachment I watch the thing go gray as I draw the glowing life out of it, picturing the road in Japan where I’d stood 21 years ago, having just placed the very first one between my lips & wondering what the hell to do next.