(for Tracy Jeune)
Before they proved it was a killer,
before everyone agreed it was disgusting,
before they made you feel like a dreadful person
unless you were David Hockney and therefore forgiven,
before then, d’you remember how lovely it was?
How comforting that cigarette, how good every one of them –
the consoling one, the one that gave you courage, the one
you had to run out for in the middle of the night,
the one you reached for when you couldn’t find the words,
the cigarette that was truly your best friend,
reliable, asking nothing of you but your lungs
and possibly your life? And then how all these good things –
the comfort, the courage etc were tucked up in a packet
you could, once-upon-a-time, buy for next to nothing
and you had it in your pocket, to pat like your
lucky mascot or the last rag of your security blankie.
And come on, surely you remember how sexy it was? Surely?
