Free Period

    

Free Period

A silver cigarette case,
with a plastic purple jewel
open and shut with a click, tink.
Last Camel Light
between the thumb and index.
Am I holding it right?
And with a sharp sting
at the back of my throat,
I squeeze my lungs tight
to hold back the cough.

Aged Gibson acoustic
passes around the circle.
“Here comes the sun,” “Wish You were Here,”
“A Lack of Color,”
Do you know any songs?
No.

Free period after lunch,
I was convinced to ditch last class
And drive to City Park.
They leaned on columns,
cigarettes bobbing
with every movement of their mouths.

But I, away from the group,
distracted.
Cement Lion that guards
my childhood memories
whispered them in my ear:

You swerve the bike between
cigarette butts,
a new game
ending with a scraped knee
and dad singing
“While my Chris
gently weeps.”

do you remember?


Side Tidbit:
I tend to go off by myself and daydream a lot, as you can see with this poem. One of the main reasons why, is because I sometimes wish life was more interesting, like a fantasy novel. I sometimes wish that my trips from home to school involved being chased by velociraptor, or fending off large ferocious dogs. So that is why I decided to make this blog, as a sort of homage to the way life should be.