Ashtray (A Poem)


At the party

The package of Cloves

Tapped on

Topside down

Like a magic wand, on magician’s hat

Aesthetic, svelte, sleek, sophisticated, sole

Too pristine to corrupt with flame

Too potent to combine with matter on my brain

And the carton of Kools

Under the passenger seat

And the Bidis

The ones that leave vanilla on your lips

And cherry fragrance on your finger tips

For all of the intensity of the Clove’s biting, wrestling, undressing, confessing, painting,

protesting, investing, necking

And the Kool’s culture shock wave

And the Bidi’s vanilla and cherry

And the random Camel, American Spirit and Marlboro’s utility

After the swallow, punch-out, poem and orgasm

What remains

If anything at all

Is consistently

Without fire

And stubbed

And disregarded

For a spell

In an ashtray

© 2013


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