Everybody knows it when the Spirit rolls in.
Even from far off you can see the oiled tires spin dizzy
And hear all eight cylinders of his El Camino cry,
Screaming like the hellspray from a bombshell, terrible and alive.
You have nice hair
I speak under my breath
What did you mumble? You ask
that new shampoo smells good
It’s not the nicotine. I swear. It’s not the nicotine. There’s just something about the way that the cigarette crackles with every drag….
Inhaling, the smoke–it pushes
my mind back a few seconds–
long enough to see what I missed
the first time….