The Marlboro Boy

What goes through his mind as he puffs
Clouds of smoke away

Like a man wise and old
puffs to his life.

Intoxicated by the future,
or letting go off his past

He puffs and puffs
Till the last.

Holds that stick of joy
between numbers much too small

He stands the stance of heroes
And puffs wisps so slender

Mamas and Papas watch
And they whisper words of shock,

And the young man stamps the butt
-- and walks.

I looked through the window
And saw him return

To notice my lute and show me
Two thumbs up.

He vanished again from sight
and introduced me to his clique --

One pushed a wheelchair, while the other sat in it,
Between his lips another murder stick.

The glass window it seemed
To insulate me from this grief,

And I turned away to be faced
By the young man who vanished ago.

Thirteen he said
But seemed barely eight,

Gave him the coins I had
For some bread to barely satiate.

I walked away as my flight was going,
knowing too well he'd buy more smoke,

My grief choked as he walked through the
Glass doors to his side of the world.