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?