lifetsyle

Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

Song of Smoke


To watch you walk
cross the room in your black


corduroys is to see
civilization start-


the wish-
whish-whisk


of your strut is flint
striking rock-the spark


of a length of cord
rubbed till


smoke starts-you stir
me like coal


and for days smoulder.
I am no more


a Boy Scout and, besides,
could never


put you out-you
keep me on


all day like an iron, out
of habit-


you threaten, brick-
house, to burn


all this down. You leave me
only a chimney.

Written by Kevin Young

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