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I hate smoking. But I've always had a thing for just the odd cigar...

The Cigar

Fdf5205c-8b5b-4da8-a6dc-63fe28d680a9by Billy J. Stewart25 Dec 2014

Clandestine, secret, furtive movements,
Out the back, and away to the shed.
Snatching a quick look over the shoulder,
Key, door, open, fumble.
Ah, the brass Zippo, stashed in the left drawer,
Under the cable-ties.
Now where…ah right…here it is,
The old biscuit tin looks secure enough.
Keeps out the cold and the heat,
And accidental uninvited snoopers,
But hardly a humidor.
Mind, it’ll do rightly, I’m not that fussy.
I had to get these rolled weeds on excursions,
Abu Dhabi, ah yes, right…
And prising the lid with blunt finger nails I lift one out.
Big and fat.
Smelling of such evil yet wonderful promise, rolled by hand,
In Nicaragua,
In some sweat shop hovel, by a lady who chews the stuff.
Can’t wait.
I set to, chopping the end,
Needs done, it flows better on the draw.
Stump to mouth, Zippo…
Big suck…
That sweet moment of bliss…!
Guilt, yes some.
No matter.
Boy but it feels and smells the tab.
I blow out the thick smoke, in a ring.
I always do that.
Don’t know why, but hey, I love it.
And watching the smoke cloud swirl and move fluidly,
Dispersing in the wind over the back fence and away,
I imagine my troubles melting,
And they seem a little easier to bear.
I hate smoking yet I love this.
I’m such a hypocrite.
Meh…bugger it.
Another drag...
Yes I’ll reek, but the mouthwash bottle is quare an’ handy..!
I’ll sneak in the back door,
When I'm quite done,
A little bit more chilled than when I left it.