Sticking out,
Tag like,
Too unpracticed
At small talk,
Too timid for a noisy bar
Full of people
Who know each other already,
No way into the conversation
Save for an oddity
That was gifted
And hangs
Like old memories,
The way the El Cortez still smells
Of 60 year old cigars
And the musk
That marks it

It has a sad story,
Like I do,
Trying to escape them
And getting texts about a headstone,
Another responsibility shunned
Because I did my duty,
Good flawed son,
Caring for him in the
End of his life,
Should I be
Caretaker of death too?

It all hangs in the air,
Smoke and mirrors gleaming,
As I take it outside
To clear head and fill lungs
With something besides
my own bullshit.


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