I Cringe When the Smoke Comes

I cringe when the smoke comes Of the crippled boy leaning on the ground Creeping toward the sounds Of the birds of love, celebrating A cremation party with bounce. I cringe when the smoke comes To the hardy knight’s pout Under the hyena’s slurping sounds, To the immolated pigeon on the ground. I cringe when the smoke comes When a holy page burns Bunches of lilacs and roses. And I cringe and cringe Whenever the smoke comes!