Coughing Up Tar
Even you
quit smoking for years,
some days you
wake, hack up tar
that wormed its
way from lungs to tongue
via filthy mustard
sac.
Even you put
time in; you travelled far,
some days will
bring you back,
stretch your
teeth, prickle your gums,
fingers
round your lips will run,
and track hard
waters there.
Even you
learned how not to hate,
you'll find him
hanging at your gate,
sharpening
words, sticking nibs,
an upward
blow between the ribs,
might strike
an even match.
Even moving
on, in age advanced,
gave nothing
past another glance
and smiled his
work to see,
treasure
troved silver coins,
fires
quenched in argent loins,
just before the
widow drops,
fork hash between
toothless chops.
Lock the
door, drop the latch
on verdicts dished out with pride,
to wonder
who knows where you hide.
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