Smokeless Writing

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I'm out of smokes and nicking like a mo
But cannot get another pack until
I write this fricking sonnet - that's fo sho...
And right now it's like climbing up a hill
In winter through six feet of snowy powder,
Uphill, both ways, while on my to school;
Manhatten rather than New England chowder...
And pretty soon I just might lose my cool.
I'm sure that if I wanted I could quit...
This poem - not my smoking - don't be dumb.
But something keeps me going... what is it
That makes me write until my brain is numb?
     Perhaps we'll never know how many licks,
     But I know when it's time to get a fix.



 


 


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Created: Apr 18, 2014

Tags: sonnet, poetry

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