First there was the old box wine
From the one who had
lived there nearly a year ago.
It was still good somehow.
The last remaining smoke
Bellowed to the ceiling.
Then came the bottle being saved
For a special occasion,
Popping open unceremoniously.
It was perfectly aged.
Smoke still rising
Circling around disgustingly.
Then came the last beers
Marking ends of habits
Cracking involuntarily
Glugging into glasses
Smoke somehow still
Spreading its stink.
Then came the very last
Of the wine bottles
Old and skunked
Choked down with some gags
A last pack of smokes
Bought with spare change.
Just like that
The past flings and affairs gone
Outdated and ready
To be forgotten
Smoke no longer rising
Smelling like distant memories.
Yet, standing there before
Another day of work
As the morning chill refreshes
Right before sunrise,
Remembering the life
He’s known,
He saw her again
The most welcome
Sight he ever thought
He could possibly see.
Walking toward him
Glowing more than the sun.
It was then
He realized how much
He loved her
And that she
Was now a memory.
And it was time to begin work.
