How many times have we been told?
“Smoking is bad, smoking will kill you”
My grandfather died from lung cancer,
And my grandmother from second hand smoke
But still I stand here with the pleasant tube
In my hand,
Its aromatic fumes floating to meet my nostrils.
And as I inhale, I’m again infused with the blessed
Calm.
Nerves strung tight, finally loosen and I can
Concentrate again.
It’s a habit, it’s an addiction, but I can’t figure
Which is strong.
It has a hold on me that no label can explain,
no anti-tobacco, anti-youth, anti-anti
ism group
Can explain.
You can’t scare me enough by showing slides of lungs,
Blackened and scarred.
It’s too late for that.I was pulled in after the first puff, the first drag,
The first time.
