The hum of an engine,
purrs quietly, the smell
of too-soon autumn and the
breath of tobacco.

Sweaty brow, salted lips
pull together into
vacuum, drawing
monotony to the roof of my mouth.

Pursed, puckered, and
ready to release,
I exhale saliva,
and spit at a passing football practice.

Because deep down,
I know they'd rather
have me swallow

their words
like
the nectar
of
a lit
cigarette.