11-22-2022, 01:30 AM
A Fine Futility
I cannot conceive of an odder, more humdrum
addiction than mine, to make old lighters work:
to subtly repair, self-concerned in a tantrum–
to spark them and light them - as some starlets twerk.
Oh, joy, there’s the odor of pyrite abraded,
and naphtha ignited, prepared for the toke -
on well-oiled machine sunset flame is paraded...
though neither tobacco nor pot do I smoke.
I cannot conceive of an odder, more humdrum
addiction than mine, to make old lighters work:
to subtly repair, self-concerned in a tantrum–
to spark them and light them - as some starlets twerk.
Oh, joy, there’s the odor of pyrite abraded,
and naphtha ignited, prepared for the toke -
on well-oiled machine sunset flame is paraded...
though neither tobacco nor pot do I smoke.
Non-practicing atheist