Warning:
This is a love story
Without a happy ending.
You may find this poem
To be worn out
And threadbare
Since it is a
Stale rerun.
We’ve heard
Many times.
This American Indian Revenge.

The camel,
I understand,
Spits when irritated
Sometimes on the
Person standing
Closest.

Roget’s Super Thesaurus
Lists this for the word
Cigarette:

Smoke,
Coffin nail,
Butt,
Cancer stick,
Gasper,
Fag,
Kent,
Pall Mall,
Salem,
Kool,
Winston,
Camel,
Marlboro,
Chesterfield,
Killers that travel in a pack.

Did you know that
Three hundred million
Chinese buy
American brand
Cigarettes?

A doctor said
Dad stopped smoking
Ten years too late.
His Camel killers traveled
In a pack
With no filters,
A real man’s smoke.

Dad was a lady’s man,
A charming
Magnet for women.

Marlboro,
A cowboy’s pride,
And the Camel brand
Had a gasping war
For decades
To see which one
Attracted the
Most women;
To win
The coffin nail trophy.

My brother’s executioner was
Anything with the lowest price.
He smoked to the end
From Kent to Chesterfield
Eating a gallon of vanilla ice cream
Between puffs.
If he ran short on smokes,
His temper flared
Like a box of matches,
The kind that burn
When wet.

Aunt Peggy begged
As she lay dying
In the hospital.
Her loving daughters
Assisted her desired
Method of suicide.
By supplying her with
The cancer sticks
Of her choice.
Auntie pulled
The oxygen mask off,
Took a puff
Put the mask on;
Struggled to breathe
And gasped to her
Last butt.

Scott’s mom,
A neighbor,
Smoked Salem,
The sexy cigarette.
Her lung cancer
Terrified my dad, so
He gave up
Camels;
Took up
A pipe with
Sweet smelling
Apple brand tobacco.

After all,
Apples are good for you,
Right?

When I fought in Vietnam
In 1966
We ate C-Rations
Dated 1945.
Each brown box
Came with five free fags,
Because
Our government
Wanted to reward
Our sacrifice
And support
Wall Street’s short term goals
Like paying millionaire
Farmers not to grow food
Making tobacco farmers jealous.

Sad to say, I’m not
Into this kind of Kool.
I’m sure a real camel
Would feel the same
And spit.