Self-Lit Cigarette
That cigarette is still smoking...
It lies there on the pavement,
Out in the open.
I stare.
The curled pattern of smoke...
Interesting.
The paper burns...leaving behind the smoke
that catches my attention.
It's always two feet from a trashcan.
Noone bothers to pick it up.
Why not?
I like to stand and stare at the lengthy curls.
It had wasted a life for sure, or
It is wasting and being wasted on the ground.
I watch it shrink...
Until the smoke vanquishes.
The tip is bone dry.
No saliva can be found on the filter.
It had been lit...
The igniter cannot be found.
The cigarette lies alone.
But attracts walkers-by
By its complex smoke patterns.
Self-Lit Cigarette.
It lies there on the pavement,
Out in the open.
I stare.
The curled pattern of smoke...
Interesting.
The paper burns...leaving behind the smoke
that catches my attention.
It's always two feet from a trashcan.
Noone bothers to pick it up.
Why not?
I like to stand and stare at the lengthy curls.
It had wasted a life for sure, or
It is wasting and being wasted on the ground.
I watch it shrink...
Until the smoke vanquishes.
The tip is bone dry.
No saliva can be found on the filter.
It had been lit...
The igniter cannot be found.
The cigarette lies alone.
But attracts walkers-by
By its complex smoke patterns.
Self-Lit Cigarette.