Smoking Together at the Breakfast Table

Somehow cigarettes were
part of the meal.
Bagels and Nutella and cup
after cup of coffee,
only pausing to fully drag
a smoke and breathe it out.
Smoke wafted
from our mouths, noses,
smoke in our fresh
morning nakedness.
Smoke straying into
our hair and squatting like
a brown cancerous cloud.
We didn’t last.
It ended badly.
But somehow
those cigarette mornings,
we called them love.

---

Circus

Sometimes things
are nearly over
but you have
to smile because
otherwise you’d
break into pieces like
an undoable puzzle.
It burns the
way hot oil burns
with a splash
of magenta and fire-purple
tossed over hands
in surrender and prayer.
So I stay far from the fire now
and smile like a painted clown.

---

Robert Allen lives and loves in northern California, where he writes poems,  takes long walks,  and looks at birds. More at:  www.robertallenpoet.com