THE GUILTY, RELAPSED SMOKER

You know you'd better buy that next pack of cigarettes
before you sober up,
while you're still fuzzy
enough to justify it.

You sit in your car
listening to the beautiful song
that gives you that ache
you can't put your finger on.
It's not exactly his absence,
it's not exactly him,
though that's the shape it chooses.

The wind is fierce,
tossing the fragile branches
with their new fragile buds,
the delicate green dancing just for you,
as you sit in your car,
a little drunk,
a little sad.

And then the song on the radio changes:
another sad one,
a duet,
and you're not sure about anything.
Not one single thing.