Smoothers Poems

Aliens on the Park

With skateboard tight in hand, his hair cut to the skull, 
he takes long drags on cigarettes, flinging each butt 
with an easy flick of fingers.

At five feet, slim, in sockless sneakers large for a boy 
his size and age, lost in oversized cloths new to his 
adolescence, his trousers barely hang on his half 

exposed rear, (the latest fad), he moves impatiently 
back and forth, spuming cigarette smoke like whale spews
mist from its blow hole, waiting for an older boy, his clone.

Darkness soon smoothers the park and the boy’s clone
appears and they vanish into the night puffing away on 
a stronger sweet-scented smoke, laughing, leaving a trail 

of quickly fading obscenities. About to leave, my nostrils 
catch a whiff of a sweet but unknown drug mixed with 
the scent of newly blossomed lilacs, and I quickly snort

and cough it out, recalling something from my boy days
not unlike an odor of premature fruit gone rotten.