the last cigarette machine
in dallas
left to rust
in the back
of a nautical themed bar
on the edge
of deep ellum

a marlin
with a tennis ball
affixed to it’s sword point
hangs down
over the table
a remnant of an assumed
tragic accident

laughter
fills the near empty room
of geriatrics
sipping beer
at the bar
as they ponder
the hemingway decor

the obese man
in the motorized chair
tells tall tales
about the last cigarette machine
lurking
just out of view
forgotten down the hall

these relics
of the not so
distant past
in a room
filled with relics
of the distant past
like a haunted sepulchre

ten dollars in quarters
gets you
a pack of darts
to wile away the evening
yet smoking
is banned inside
so the lepers sneak outside

the last cigarette machine
sits idly
biding it’s time
until it is tossed
into the heap
with the other
dusty bygone era memories

the fish stare
with plastic eyes
a layer of dust
tennis balls on their snouts
while the daydreams
of old men
drift on the currents of smoke