Even the coffee

Even the coffee

Tastes of excess

At least it’s not oatmilk

The smoke from the old Pajero

Is blue

With a little help

From sea salt

It eats at the paint on the legs

Of the table

The seat wobbles like an old drunk

If you look too closely

Everything looks

Worn out

The undigested remains of last night’s

Fish pasta

Regurgitates

Into the back of my throat

Sour tasting

Burning right up into my mouth

I cough until tired eyes water

The book lady

Raises an eyebrow

Gazing out from behind Ruth Rendell

For just a moment I believe she cares

But the smoke is thicker now

And it is difficult

To see

She may have guessed who dunnit

What is the point of exercise

When cars are even more bellicose

Than I am

I should never have stopped smoking

At least the lung damage

Would be my fault

The smoke hangs in the air

Long after the truck has gone

A deep Purple riff floats

Across the water

And for a moment

I drift in rock-n-roll heaven

When we all believed

We would never grow old

But the day is done with dreaming

The sun is a hard taskmaster

And unless I move along

I will roast

Like an over oiled hog

Trussed up tight

Turning on a spit

Dripping fat into the pit

Solar flares are deadly

It is all relative

Or so they tell me

Perhaps in another time and place

We are not alone.