i miss the crackle of a fresh lit cigarette sometimes

the first inhale of blue smoke after a long night drinking, the stale smell of beer and a dirty ashtray

like a dog without a bone

she smiles into space

wide eyed

not here, not sitting on the

couch

not next to me

my phone rings and it says it is her number but heavy breathing is all that greets my hello

heavy breathing

i had a cat

little thing, big green eyes, the devil took root in her as a kitten

she died and i sobbed

two days before my appendix tried to kill me

miss that little girl

when my ex called she asked about the cat

i told her the truth and she yelled at me

as if it were my fault

as if i was killed her

as if

instinctively i reached for my pack of not so lucky strikes

a pack i hadn’t had for years

that first inhale on a groggy morning, coughing up the night before

too many shots, too much singing, too many drunken kisses

when i first started smoking as a wayward teen rebel i swallowed the smoke instead of inhaling

remember puking out great clouds of the stuff

stealing packs from my father after he passed out on the couch watching wrestling

my cat never saw me smoke

her judging jade orbs would have disapproved immensely

could go for a smoke and a pint of whiskey

just to help me sleep

instead i stare at the screen and watch my shadow thumbs dance across the electronic keys

rambling disconnected thoughts

like the swirling smoke

lucky strikes means fine tobbaco

my dead cat, my dead dad, my dead friends

and me without a cigarette