Cigarette
By Mingo Maquera, Age 17, St. Albans, VT
I still smell your smoke
on my body and I begin to choke
back my tears but I fail,
remembering the Hard'ack trail
when we began to coexist.
It had been a while since I was kissed
but you weren't sure.
I did not know
in every kiss and staring eye
you hid a secret last goodbye.
I should have cherished every time
your lips were holding on to mine
and you were perfect. I should know
eventually you'd have to go.
But you went like applause,
a familiar walk to your garage,
where I am trying not to cough
to show that I am man enough
to share the cancer in your lungs.
I never got to be this young.
I am hurt.
I'm human.
