The Smoker

Its okay I said
You must feel you have made it
Still smoking in your eighty third year

He cleared his throat
And spluttered his response

All this kafuffle

“Son” he said
Smoking’s done me good

It stopped me from killing myself
At least one hundred times
It reduced my dependence on alcohol
And saved me from counselling
It kept me calm after the war

All this kafuffle

I possibly killed twenty people
Who chose to trust my poisoned air?
But I always thought they loved me

My grandchild now has emphysema
The boy has never smoked

I sat him on my knee often
I took him for drives in my car
He loved Grandpa rolling a smoke

My wife died of lung cancer at fifty
She never smoked
Never whinged

That’s life son he said
All this kafuffle

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