a faded blue awning shades
my pop and his sister.
muted honks and a yell float up three stories
from the street below
just echoes when they reach the balcony.
she turns to see the fuss
black jackie-Os in check,
then turns back
smothering her cigarette in the black ashtray.
a white line of smoke floats up
and loosens into a fluff of nothing.
dad takes a sip of his drink
clinking the ice.
they are the only two left of six
and glistening in the humidity they pause
just the two of them
together.
a cricket chirps.
my aunt lights another smoke
and as she sparks the lighter
pop cracks a smile
reaches slowly over and pulls one
from the white pack on the table.
he is back home
and a kid again at sixty
filling up with youth
indestructible
floating above himself.
after thirty years smoke free
he taps the filter against his thumbnail
looks at me
then grabs the lighter
and flicks it like a pro
bringing it closer to his face
cupping his hand around the flame
the last bit of orange glowing in the sky behind him.
Published in Verdad Magazine, 2007
http://verdadmagazine.org/vol3/poetry/starros.html
anthonystarros 