days were filled with busyness.

constantly rushing from there to there.

always late and slightly unkempt. falling

into places like checkers dropped from

a board. i spoke before i listened and

answered before i knew. arrogance worn

like a too soon winter coat. shouting ciao

over my shoulder like i’d seen that baby

girl do once outside a gelato place in verona.

finally quiet i’d watch sunset outside

my kitchen window. cold beer and

pen posed over an open journal. incomplete

poems littered every page. in solitude i relished

a newly earned peace. no one needed me there.

i counted as i inhaled.

one one thousand two one thousand three

one thousand.

one one thousand two one thousand three

one thousand.

exhale.

twenty years later i still taste the nicotine.

thumb grazes middle finger searching for

the tip, landing on my index finger as i

gently tap tap an imaginary cigarette. i am

transported out of mind. drifting to another

me fixed in time.