Whoa, tough crowd.

Out in public
You can get looks
For the way
You blow your smoke
Not giving a damn 
Who walks by
And you still 
Swear like a sailor 
On the phone
When there’s a child around.
And in public 
You can 
Be severely judged
By a pretty
And pretty damn uptight
Middle aged woman
Who can tell
You aren’t the greatest
Of friends
With a man she calls
What I like to see
Out in public
Is the apathy
Of another man
Who would be willing
To lend you his lighter
So you can spark up
Your cigarette.
And the only concern
He shows
To you or to anything
Is that someone gets 
To have their smoke
With him even as 
A stranger. 
That and the fact
That he better get
His lighter back.
He found it
In his late grandfather’s drawer.
Zippo with an ace on it.
It’s too scratched up
To tell if it was a spade.


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