Sparks

I see you sparking up a cigarette
on your way out the café. Hunched
over, hands cupped around your mouth,
flickers of lighter fire flitting until one finally
catches and you take that first drag—relieved.
But you pace on the street corner in the fog
as if expecting something lost from the anxious traffic.
Naked fingers flick your latest smoldering vice
as a young, inglorious girl pulls up, so you
stomp out your cigarette and disappear.