The Smoker

He was middle-aged,
with a shock of honey-blond hair,
dressed in a suit and tie.
Crossing the street in front of me,
he stood on the far corner,
smoking a cigarette,
waiting to cross again.

Raising the thin tube to his lips,
he took a drag, tilting his head
as if to follow that breath to the end.
Then he held it for a few seconds or more
and let it go.

“That’s how I want to live,” I thought.
Breathing deep,
holding on for a moment,
then letting go.

This post is linked with dVerse Poets Pub.


  1. I guess that's why it's so addictive never letting go of attachment...

  2. oh yes, this
    drawing the most from each moment
    wonderful write

  3. yes, what a way to live eh? i want to be that take it in and let it mingle with me a bit and then the kicker...being willing to let it go once more....

  4. I would love to breathe deeply too (but without the smoke) and just let go ~ Such a lovely lesson ~

  5. I love this! Holding on to each moment. Perfect. Wonderful write.