Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Each time your father lit
Up a cigarette, you didn’t

Realize the cancerous worm
Was sneaking up on him to

Choke him on his final drag.
It was the currency of WW2

And before that the soldier’s
Way to get through the blood,

Guts and far from home feel
And orders that didn’t make

Sense and even if they did they
Had to deal with the death waste

Expense. You used to roll his
Cigarettes between young boy's

Fingers, lick the paper with your
Innocent spit, hand him the paper

Nail to the future coffin and sit and
Watch him draw and begin coughing.

cool pic and poem dadio....my dad was a smoker too.....

Thank you, Wireman.