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Lungs

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  • Lungs

    Lungs

    An old woman sits outside,
    Reading today’s paper, sipping coffee and
    Smoking a cigarette.
    She looks satisfied,
    The tip flaring orangey red
    As she sips another draw
    From pursed, cracked lips.
    The smoke is almost blue in the evening light.

    Her eyes strain through thick glasses,
    Underneath silvered hair,
    To read words underlined by an
    Extended arthritic finger,
    Wrinkles channelling down her arm alongside
    Visibly bloated blue veins.
    Still she breathes, in and out.

    She stubs out the butt, and sits
    Motionless for a while,
    Her fingers crooked around the handle of her cup,
    Still gripping tightly
    As she reads.
    Her eyes don’t seem to move,
    And nor does her head,
    As gusty winds shake fiercely
    The row of tall trees behind her,
    And gently fondle a single tuft of her
    Thinning grey hair.

    She finishes her coffee, and
    Lights another cigarette.
    I walk away, wondering
    Who else could have done with a few more packs.
    Last edited by TheKoolAidGuy; 11-24-2008, 03:31 PM.
    Tears make the best lubricant

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