Cigarettes

By Rose Bence

 

My friend likes the smell of cigarettes

The nicotine teases her nose

The burning ends of people’s regrets

 

As we watch the spinning of roulettes

Smoke, intertwining into clothes

My friend likes the smell of cigarettes

 

The men sitting there, sweats

Over and over complaining of their woes

The burning ends of people’s regrets

 

On stage the dancers pirouettes

Bending and swaying, flying on their toes

My friend likes the smell of cigarettes

 

The waiters stand in black like statuettes

Waiting for leftovers and trash, like crows

The burning ends of people’s regrets

 

And there my friend sits, recording cassettes

Sitting there tapping as she writes her prose

My friend likes the smell of cigarettes

The burning ends of people’s regrets