Her charred tar lungs,
Like weathered sacks
Release and intake
The smoked filled air.
Escaping from her cratered lips,
Absorbing in her now white hair.
She married smoking in the ‘60’s
And wears the dingy yellow ring
To remind herself of this breathless demon.
Lurking deep within.
Her only commitment
Has now come back to teach her
The ways in which this wicked world works.
Pursed lipped breathing,
Hands on her knees,
Smoking billowing across the tar black sea.
She laughs because it’s easier
To have the chuckles take the place
Of the black tar life
She reluctantly lives today.
This wasn’t her intentions.
She never was a martyr.
But it’s simply the beginning
Of a black tar filled tomorrow.