For Caroline

Posted: March 10, 2013 in Poems

“I don’t smoke,” she says

as she lifts back the bottle

and the golden liquor

burns and soothes.

 

And when she cries she smiles

And she doesn’t know why

Except that it feels like a note

Too low to sing.

 

Her laugh consumes

Angst for a time

Until the humor bleeds dry

And she closes her eyes again.

 

And so she burns burns

Burns, lying in an ashtray,

trying to sleep

Like the cigarette she’ll never smoke.

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