smokes

he touches his
throat
to talk. an alien voice
comes out.
how are you?
he says.
he nods
and motions
with his hand,
pointing to his
pack of
cigarettes
on his wheelchair,
his wife
takes one out,
lights it
and sets it between
his lips.
want one, he says.
have a seat.
sit for awhile.
he blows a cloud
of smoke
into the air,
a calm smile
upon his face.
the ashes
fall to the floor.