Smokers

I've never really been a smoker, but I do smoke from time to time.

A still room and a lit cigarette. The smoke streams into the air, with a slender, gentle dance.

Honest, smokers seem, at least with themselves. Sitting in the back, standing outside, a gathering with the smell, the burn, the smoke, and flame.

The bearded old man, the girl with the blue dress, and the policeman. Smoking together - seeming to tell more than they are saying.

Not knowing each other, but never were really strangers.

I have sat here all night watching smokers and thier smoke, why - I'm not sure.

Hey man, can I get a light?

Mowing

Primed three times. I always liked the smell of gas mixed with oil and dirt on the motor.

The dew shone in the morning dawn.
So what if it's a little wet.

It takes three pulls, every time.

Straight lines, then diagonal.

Around the tree, along the hedge. Green stains on my shoes.

The neighbors are probably awake by now....oh well.

Mister

Dressed in a furry tuxedo, he wore black and white.
With large round eyes, up he would look, right into yours.
Squarely sitting down on his back legs, his blunt and crooked tail tucked under.

He was a dog, of course, and he couldn't speak.
But, with those triangle ears he could tell a story.
One up, one down. Both forward, both back.
Those eyes..those eyes would change with them.

He loved me so, and on he would stare.

Up from the chair I rise, and down his front paws would go. Come on! Let's Play!

That look, ears back, jaws open with a smile, a little bit of slobber.
I feign my attention and pretend to walk past.
He sees me pause with my sideways glance, he knows what I'm up to.

With a yell I fly to the rug, I grab a leg- got him!

Across the floor we go, growling and yelling, a biting and kicking dog in my arms.
With a squeal he bites my thumb, and through the pain I laugh and release him.
With one leap to the couch, he's victorious, ready for more, and I'm laughing on the floor.

Mister, my beloved dog. I miss him.