Brown and burning broad leaf,
calm my nerves and salve my grief,
contract my capillaries brittle,
and expand my harried lungs more than a little.
To Jove your incense curling does ascend,
while throughout my temple earthly its pleasures does extend,
suffused with nicotined delight,
from slender, paper sticks rolled straight and wrapped ideally tight,
I take my schmaltzy draws from a burning L&M,
and supinely relax with this most sacrificial and temporary friend.
Snugly packed with tan filters made of remnant cotton--
the surgeon general's warning ignored or deliberately forgotten--
like twenty sardines waiting to be readily consumed,
their inebriating poisons are sucked by me as they are Zippo fumed.
Oh, tobacco, you temptress of the flesh,
how make you your pollution taste so sweet and to me fresh?
I know as soon as I do swear you honest off,
I'll breathe again your airy plumage and at the thought of quitting scoff.
So feed me one more carnal joy and nervous titillation,
while I thank God again for your goodness and creation.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE Read more articles by Tim Rake or search for other articles by topic below.