MiPo Poetry Board Best of 2002

When My Grandfather Smoked Alone

He loved to smoke
and discuss the world,
converse, listen, and
revel in social intercourse.
He would test, prod, and
provoke the provocative.

Smoking was his addictive pleasure
elevated into informal forums,
town hall meetings without the cameras,
make-up or prepared responses.

Whenever he worked a shift at the local station.
his debaters would gather,
sit semi-circled in rickety wooden chairs,
fill the night air with Turkish aromas
and aroused witticisms.

When he smoked alone
in his solitary confinement,
the firehouse office overlooking the street,
the world kept its distance
allowed him introspection,
control over swirling events.

I rarely approached him at such times,
out of respect but also the knowledge
he sought answers, solutions,
or mental anesthetics
for local and worldly occurrences.

Sometimes I would see a small tear
well-up in his eye as he turned away
from my curiosity. The folded newspaper
provided my clue -
somewhere a fireman had died that day.

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featuring the art of Georgia O'Keefe