Smoking a cigarette you thought would be your last

Smoking a cigarette you thought would be your last

Before you arrived, looking up, looking over, eyes downcast

The clipped click of your heel on the New York cobble met

Uneven, irregular, undulating, in the shining wet

images-7

Seven for seven thirty, that’s what I said

Seven forty eight, that’s not what I meant

But smoking that cigarette you thought would be your last

You pushed down on the dog end, dog roughly, fast

and with me under your heel like a shit, that you love

My face of blue, your skin of white, under a sky of mauve

 

We strode into the joint, waved, and we were hailed

The jazz clarinet and whisky never failed

and he felt in his heart their strangeness unsurpassed

when she was smoking a cigarette he knew would be her last

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s