Smoke Break
Feb 17 2022
They stand, pace, lean against the wall
on a frigid winter day,
chat, laugh
blow on bare hands,
stamp their feet to keep warm.
Winter coats are unzipped
and they're still in loafers and heels,
as if misery loves company
and besides, we'll be quick.
Clouds of smoke hang over them,
a metal container
overflows with butts.
The smell of cigarettes
persists
in the inert arctic air,
clings to clothes, hair
dry winter skin.
So why do I envy them?
An excuse to take a break
on company time?
Their commitment
addicted or not?
Or is it that I long for the sense of community
they appear to enjoy,
members of a club
the shared experience?
It's certainly not that they're the cool kids
they once were
hanging out under the bleachers;
not with the yellowing teeth
and fingers stained with tar,
the faces that are showing their age
and coughs that sound consumptive.
Still, I gaze out the window
from my cubicle desk
and wonder what's so funny,
whether plans have been made
for after work.
The door swings shut
the concrete steps are abandoned.
The smokers
have returned to the office
in a blast cool air
and the strong scent of tobacco.
Now, we are all back at work,
hands on our keyboards
one eye on the clock.
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