blowing smoke

he tells me that his life is hard.

that the world is against him.
he wants
money, he wants a woman.
his own place.

he talks about tomorrows as if
they were beans in a jar.

as if there were more to steal.

he wants and wants, even now
at the end of his days, he desires
more
of what he never had enough of.

light me a cigarette, he says
on his death bed.

put it in my mouth. it's not over,
he whispers. inhaling the harsh
smoke

and exhaling through his nose.

it's not over.