Nobody’s Grandpa

He paid the three-twenty 
three and slipped the familiar 
red and white box into 
his jacket pocket. 

He wouldn’t light up 
outside the convenience 
store (if this was to be it 
had to be special)— 

so he strolled to the park, 
stripped the foil from 
under the flip-top and raised 
the filters to his nose. 

(Some things you could change— 
a woman’s love, the faith 
of a child-but never, 
never that smell.) 

He knew that after the first 
puff he wouldn’t be quite 
himself-he wouldn’t be anyone’s 
grandpa anymore. 

Cigarettes were expensive these 
days-but maybe not if 
you adjusted for the increase 
in the cost of living.