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Volume XVI – ashtray
The walk upstairs was slow and lonely
His cube is haunted with his memory
His shadow trods down the hall
all afternoon, but he never shows
The building will never be the same
He’s a whisper in the mind of
everyone around me
It’s a collectively dark mind
since October third, and this rain
isn’t helping one fucking bit
It hurt
It hurt worse
than what this foul weather
has done to my ruptured
Achilles
It’s been raining all week
The ashtray out back
is full of water and floating
cigarette butts
Today
after lunch
I flipped my smoke
into the pool
and saw
one of the Judge’s
brown, menthol
cigarettes
half-smoked
stuck on the bottom,
resting there ... dead
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