last one-
a promise she's never been able to keep


"last one"

she whispers a promise to the dead of night. a secret
wish, a hidden desire flutters through the open window
invited along by the warm breeze flowing
around the house. it's seventy-
some degrees outside; inside, it's hotter than hell.

she exhales. smoke lingers on the air.

a single sixty-watt bulb burns
to no avail. the light takes on a hazy sheen
as if the air itself were perspiring.
the breeze does nothing to disperse the smoke.
it lingers on.

she lights another cigarette.


a/n: I guess I'll never understand why my mom can quit smoking for weeks,
& then out of nowhere, suddenly, she's lighting cigarettes like it's going out of style
(which is a stupid idiom to use considering it has gone out of style).