He was middle-aged,
with a shock of honey-blond hair,
dressed in a suit and tie.
Crossing the street in front of me,
he stood on the far corner,
smoking a cigarette,
waiting to cross again.
Raising the thin tube to his lips,
he took a drag, tilting his head
as if to follow that breath to the end.
Then he held it for a few seconds or more
and let it go.
“That’s how I want to live,” I thought.
holding on for a moment,
then letting go.
This post is linked with dVerse Poets Pub.