Cigarette Summer

Michael Volpi
Aug 8, 2017 · 1 min read

He would take to pinching the end
and rolling out the tobacco, early August
when the wind begins to whisper
in cool mouth. And then he’d use

the pink chopstick to pack in the ground
Summer cones. He stained the arms:
two Adirondacks, Indonesian, with nothing
but breath and smoke. It would be Fall

before the girls creaked coordinates
from their desks’ seats: for the rest-
room mirror in which he sees ash flecks
in the pits of carnations’ blooms.

Poetry Under Cover

continuing the work of Poetry After Dark - a home for your deepest loves and hottest passions - come join us

Michael Volpi

Written by

Many starts, not so many completions.

Poetry Under Cover

continuing the work of Poetry After Dark - a home for your deepest loves and hottest passions - come join us

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