The woman across from me
in the velvet, red lipstick
and beautiful silky, brown hair.
Her lips curve into an O releasing the
toxic cloud of tension from her lungs.
Euphoria sparks into her pale eyes.
I swear,
for one second her stone-toughened face softens up.
Taking in another of the cigarette,
her eyelashes flutter and she closes her eyes.
She purses her lips, releasing the cloud once again.
Swaying her body back and forth,
ignoring the world around her.
It only takes her a few seconds to wake up
into the harsh reality of people gagging up
the poisonous smoke that she’s exhaled.
The tips of her finger flick away the red butt,
and she drops it unto the hot pavement.
The stone-toughened face returns, along
with her pale sad eyes.
That cigarette was not just some cigarette.
It was eight minutes of non-disappointment.
It was eight minutes as a shut door.
Eight minutes of happiness.