Just a little poem sort of thing I wrote on holiday because us smokers were getting it in the neck for letting a little Arctic air gust into other people's lives.
We smoke from the margin
Face to face with each other and
The elements of wind and cold.
We talk face to face
And hear each other
And listen
And see.
We come in and go out
And try not to offend you
With our chatter
And our smell of social leprosy.
We are uncommonly.
Sorry you feel us coming and going
With a chill draught
But we still need our fix of the margin.
Just think of the door as a turning page
It may not have words to read
But we have spoken volumes.
We smoke from the margin
Face to face with each other and
The elements of wind and cold.
We talk face to face
And hear each other
And listen
And see.
We come in and go out
And try not to offend you
With our chatter
And our smell of social leprosy.
We are uncommonly.
Sorry you feel us coming and going
With a chill draught
But we still need our fix of the margin.
Just think of the door as a turning page
It may not have words to read
But we have spoken volumes.
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