my father smoking in his
big chair.
filling the room with
blue smoke.
a cigarette,
a cigar, or perhaps his pipe.
i can hear
him tap tap tapping
it against
the ashtray,
filling it with a strange
wood cherry
tobacco.
pressing it tight.
holding the flame
above
the cup
as he lit it.
we didn't seem to mind.
at least he was
home
for the night.
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