Give Me That Cigarette
You with your black trench coat and slicked-back hair
And me with my dumpy brown hand-me-down sweater
holy in the sleeves and elbows from too much sitting and
thinking and sitting and dreaming and sitting and thinking
about how to keep myself from sitting (and thinking).
We rushed past each other without a thought,
me not knowing, you not caring
and if it weren't for my weak ankles which collapsed under your eyes
perhaps we would have never met.
But you caught me as I fell
wrapping your tobacco-stained jacket around me
until all I could smell was smoke, laced with your voice as you told me
to stop screaming.
You bought me lunch that day, though I think your motive was guilt
of seeing a proud woman fall crippled to the ground.
Embarrassed, I accepted,
letting you steal my curly fries as I ate in silence.
Twice, I think I cracked a joke or two, hoping to penetrate the
smoky film noir moment when Ilsa and Rick looked into each other's
eyes and realized that it was not the heart or the tanks that throbbed but rather
the horror of separation that burned in their breasts, knowing that
the train had to leave.
In jest, I think, I asked you why you smoked and equally playfully you asked
why I didn't, flicking a cigarette near my nose
laughing as my face crinkled and ankle throbbed.
I told you with a smile that your lungs would hollow out
Slowly, painfully, until tubes stuck out your nose
and every moment was a struggle for oxygen.
But you just laughed and leaned closer to me
your breath taking over my face
and whispered, "When isn't it?"
I told you that life was
more than that but my indifferent face betrayed me and
You knew I was a hypocrite.
For your eyes leapt uncannily to
my white fingers, clutching my inhaler with such force that I wondered
whether Newton would be impressed.
And I could feel my throat closing with every moment you stared at me--
I wondered why, I remember.
And I remember wondering why I wanted to be like the cigarette in your mouth
held lightly between your lips--
With a broken voice, I asked you when we would meet again.
You only shook your head and, with a flick of your wrist,
the cigarette fell from your fingers.
At that moment, I could hear the plane land and I knew
that all the usual suspects had been rounded up.
You stood up and waved goodbye, leaving me
alone with a plate of cold potatoes.
I couldn't breathe.