fact, opinion and poetry (not airy-fairy)


Saturday, 20 October 2012

The Aged Smoker

He lifts his hand to take a puff,
Then starts to cough and cough and cough.
His face becomes a darkish red,
He looks like he may soon be dead.
As soon as he ceases to hack,
He takes another desperate drag.
He's dying for a fag.

Based on a man I saw sitting outside the Age Concern, in the centre of Leicester. They have a kind of 'smoker's garden' there.

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