After my sister ate my dad’s cigarettes

And after she blew into the ashtray

Choking on the dust and coating her eyes

My dad decided he would quit smoking

 

My dad may have been firmly persuaded

To quit smoking

I remember being his helper,

And lighting his cigarettes

 

Once with a match

Once with his aluminum Zippo

That he got in the Army

I felt so grown up.

 

The story was that he quit

Cold Turkey, one day

He just didn’t smoke anymore

And the ashtrays in the living room were removed

 

He was the one who burned the trash

Out back of the shed

In a big barrel that stood

Where the barn that fell down used to be

 

He was out there in the dark one night

So I followed him

Sneaking out in my corduroy slippers

Quietly stepping down the rickety shed stairs

 

Out on the big gray stone that was our

Step to the back door

It was pitch black

And damp after the rain

 

The back yard was up against the woods

I could hear the night song of the Whippoorwill

The rhythm of crickets

But I didn’t see any fire in the barrel

 

Just a little orange light

Back behind where the Lilacs were

It moved slowly up

Then down, up, and down

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 13, 2016