when everyone smoked,
my mother,
my father,
every relative and friend,
i used to cough.
my eyes would water.
the film of nicotine
coated everything.
the tap tap tap of the pack
against the table.
the matches. the lighters.
the ashtrays full of ash.
doctors smoked.
people smoked while
they ate. lighting up
at their desks at work.
on the bus, the train.
you couldn't escape the cloud
of grey.
and still, even now, people
smoke despite
cancer and heart disease
that cause
fifteen hundred sick souls
to die each day.
where's the tote board for
that?
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