The smell of Chinese food and
someone else’s cigarettes
and all the stiff yellow photos,
stacked like mountains on their
often empty dining room table,
tell stories I’ll never know

But the non-existence
of those memories
permeate my stream of thought
and beg the question,
“Why? Why don’t you know them?”
I've never had an answer
and I never will,
as they all drop off like flies
drawn to glow of the drink and smokes
and my lips are too stubborn and stone
to investigate.