He’d sit and smoke his cigarette
And smoke the jones out of it.
Spongy lungs drenching in its voodoo
And burning as all the suns of New Mexico
Have scorched the dry plains of my imagination.
And the smoke jonesed out his mouth
In a dull stream,
A dull haze sat around us –
And the haze left too.
And left us all to fate
And you stood there and recalled
In the cool night air
A dull haze was around us.
©West Point, December 2004