Interpreting the circumstances of reality
Is all about perspective.
I pondered this
While walking down the street
With Ryan. Watched him pick through ashtrays
Stationed outside the bars,
For cigarettes that he could confiscate
The last few drags from.
I told him.
“What if some cold sore lipped fuck
Had their lips around those filters?”
He lit one of the re-burns,
Behind his back a full moon gleamed,
Illuminating a ring around his blonde hair
Like a halo,
But he was no angel.
I heard a demon laughing
In his cough.
“Could be someone like that.” He said.
“Or maybe it was some bitch
With big tits
And a big ass! Just waiting for me to fuck it.”
“Maybe…” I said.
“But we all know pornography is fake
So why trust your fantasies?”
Void of tobacco,
His re-burn reached the filter.
He threw the butt onto the ground,
With the other hand
He fished inside his pocket
For another. We approached a crosswalk
A red hand flashed on a small screen
Above our heads. Advising us
To wait our turn.
I pushed an arrow on the stoplight
Alerting the mechanism
That we wished to cross.
A robotic voice responded,
With overtones of a white-man’s throat.
“Please wait.” The voice repeated.
We stood there staring at the cars
Passing us by.
“I don’t jerk off.”
Ryan said. “And I like to think of
Not so much who smoked it before me,
Rather who is smoking it now.”
“Well, beggars cant be choosers.” I said.
“Yes they can…everything is a choice.”
He flicked the cigarette onto a snowbank.
An orange glow faded from the re-burn
As moisture soaked the fragile inferno.
“Right…so how do we make the right choice?”I asked.
“I don’t know, man. I figure if I wake up tomorrow,
alive, I must have done it right yesterday.”
He then proceeded
To pick through another ashtray.
I watched the ashes
Turn his clean fingernails