Throw Them Away

Throw Them Away By David J Walker How often I saw him Sitting, Smoking Drinking coffee Early in the morning Thinking Worrying Perhaps praying? I cannot say He would extract an unfiltered Camel from a half empty pack , the second left over from each yesterday Pinched between his lips He would strike a match the way he had done it since he was 10 The sulfur and thin paper And dried tobacco Each with its own distinct aroma Fill the air with an innocent Poison A sophisticated flare Of maturity Mixed with percolating black coffee I wondered why He rose so early Every day Just to sit in the dark At the kitchen table The glow of his lit Cigarette The only light Commanding the complete quiet Unnatural to house with kids The “Late in life” Would come too soon At the invitation of emphysema Among the things gathered To give back to the family Was a half pack of Unsmoked cigarettes Throw them away I said