Sunk in my seat in a meeting at 3, <br />in a chair better suited for interrogation, <br />I officially sign off my attention <br />and jump visually out the window. <br />I spot smokers lingering below, and envy them <br />as a child watching fresh falling snow <br />from an overheated classroom. <br /> <br />Just one drag, I dream, to reassemble my parts. <br />Instant clarity on fire, <br />neatly wrapped travel-size. <br />A one-way nonstop ticket back to myself <br />every <br />single <br />time. <br />I stare lustfully, hoping for calm through osmosis <br />and pressure-treated glass. <br />I imagine the sensation of that first deep breath <br />and the peace that inevitably follows. <br />I practice a zen-like inhale…exhale… <br />Then, like a school bell rudely ringing, I suddenly remember <br /> <br />I don’t smoke.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-another-smoking-poem/
