the bi-monthly writers group

we used

to have a little writing group.

Dave

and Eloise,

Betty

and Lisa.

we drifted away

from the writing class

at the community center,

but stuck together

bi-monthly,

excluding holidays.

three of them chain smoked,

which made

it hard

to breathe.

the overhead fan

spun

slowly

in Betty's yellow kitchen.

i sat by the window, but

it didn't help.

i was drinking Scotch

back then

and

i started writing poems

about them,

and their

nasty habit of smoking.

Dave was working on

a biography of Ben Franklin

and Lisa was

writing television

scripts for Battlestar Galactica.

the room

was grey

and sticky with

nicotine.

they didn't like my poetry,

but i didn't care.

i was trying to get them to stop

in my

passive aggressive way.

three of them have

recently passed away,

cancer and emphysema.

i need a new liver

probably,

but it's all about being

in the writer's game.