With this poem, I’ve attempted to translate the everyday into something a little more poetic. Unusually (at least for me), I put a lot of effort into creating a rhythm for the words, rather than just letting the words flow and seeing how they end up. The first line swam through my head during a day in college with such a particular sound that I couldn’t help but be captivated by this normal yet morbidly beautiful idea. Thus, this poem was created. You can read it now!
The Smokers
They’ve herded all the smokers outside
where cars throw puddles in their eyes.
So it is left to smoke to soothe
the goose-bumped skin and calloused grooves
in hands which hold those cig-a-rettes,
those little paper cancer threats–
for no one else will be a friend
to stinking smokers rushing their ends.
Oskar Leonard 