smoke house

the ashtrays were
every where.
even in the bathroom.
my father
smoked lucky strikes,
my mother
pall malls
and grandmother
Virginia slims.
she would snap her
jaws and blow
smoke rings
at our request while
she watched and prayed
along with billy graham.
smoke filled
the house.
lighters, matches
scattered about
on the coffee table,
sinks
and nightstands.
we lived in an inferno
of cigarette
smoke.
one would have thought
coal was being
pressed
into oil in this small
brick
duplex.