I like the smell of cigarette smoke.
The haze In the air. It’s not really smoke.
It’s late night chats with older sisters,
Front porch swing creaking as we
Pass the carton of Rocky Road
Under the twinkling fairy lights,
And we choke on the whispered names
of stupid boys. And give advice
that won’t be followed.
The Peregrine Review: Vol. 34, Article 13.
Available at: https://mosaic.messiah.edu/peregrinereview/vol34/iss1/13