“The Smoker”

She scratches off that ticket looking to win the lotto, living one day at a time is her daily motto

Working hard broiling oil, tin-man on a tin

Looking for her coffee-mate but he hid in a covered bin

Jaded and spaded dinner served in ungrateful fashion

Never finding comfort her soul is always crashing

Turning to a succulent paper down-graded and coarsely wrapped in loud yet silent smoke,

Those burning leaves will eventually scheme a life-threatening and stain-filled stroke

Jawing and drawing the ash turns bright-red

She did not have to say another word enough was already said

I am no Don Draper,

I avoid fumes of cancer birthing stenchful vapor

She took her hair out of a bun, gunning quickly I did run

More than smoke I can’t handle any addiction,

This tale is mostly true and completely non-fiction

Smoke up Sally, smoke up.