Friday, April 26, 2013

Cigar Meditation

I lean back
in the chair,
and light a cigar,
feeling a kinship
to my Spanish-speaking abuelito
and Groucho Marx.

Sucking in the smoke,

a joy, exotic and ephemeral,
like an amorphous nipple,
I let it slither out,
amusing myself
with its heavenward
curling gray path.

I take a sip
from the tumbler
of apple cider vinegar
and honey
over ice cubes
pretending it is a cocktail,
because even though
it too, is an acquired taste,
it doesn’t provide
the liberating
slippery feeling
of real booze.

I inhale,
then put the smoke down.

I sip,
then let the honegar slide slowly down.

I ponder the
future destination
of the sun
as it sinks
predictably
and dispassionately
over countless stories
that I’ll hear someday,
maybe.

This ritual
forces me to slow down,

to remember
that some things
remain unchangeable

and to accept them
as they are,
or waste your time trying.

I learned early on

you can’t smoke
a cigar quickly,

but then again,
why would you?

4 comments:

  1. any ritual that makes you slow down a bit must be a good one...though drinking vinegar does not sound like a fun thing at all...smiles...been a long time since my last cigar...

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  2. Nice images, very sensual.

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  3. Your "nipple" comment on the cigar reminds me of Freud: "Sometimes a cigar is just..."

    I love the pace of this poem, Buddah. It's as languid as the smoke rising in the air. Wasn't familiar with honegar, but my dad used to drink a similar concoction and I guess it does something good for you!

    Just got back from a mental health conference, and God, how depressing. I'm still laughing at the irony...! Anyway, this was a good write and, seeing some of those concerned-about-offspring poems of late, I say a little slow down was not uncalled for. Peace, bruddah. Love, Ameleh

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  4. Well, as much as cigars and vinagar have no attraction for me, I love the idea of slowing down - and I can feel that "slow motion" in the rhythm of the poem. Nice.

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