Slow Death
A case of black metal,
Ordinary to all,
Except me.
With a flip of my hand,
The lighter is revealed.
The power inside,
Waiting.
A snap of my fingers and
The destructive flame is
Unleashed.
Sitting in my pocket,
It brings me luck.
But, when the lighter is open,
And the flame burning bright,
It brings me to a
Slow Death.
The flame ignites the
Paper-wrapped tobacco.
My cancer sticks.
My smokes.
I close the lighter.
My death coming closer,
Thanks to my Zippo.
Back into my pocket it goes,
To bring me luck until,
I need to smoke again,
Then,
Once again,
It brings me to a
Slow Death.
© 1996 Joshua W. Parish
