I’m not a smoker
But every few months
late, after a night of drinking
I get a Dunhill cigarette from my dresser drawer.
I light it on the gas stove
and I sit in the kitchen window
on the counter with the lights off.

I watch the light outside reflect off the harbor.
I blow the smoke out through the screen
and let the ash fall into the sink.
I don’t think much, but I notice how quiet it is.
It reminds me of the comforts of death.
My head floats in beer and whiskey.
My heart hopes for a better day tomorrow.

The cigarette burns down low, and I snub it out .
I wash my hands of the horrible smell.
I brush my teeth.
I forget it all
and quickly fall asleep.