A Poem: Smoke

Drinking rye in a dusty corner
she asked if I’d seen the movie Smoke.
I said I had.
With my father when I was 12 or 13.
Impossible she said it released in ’95
you’d have been 33.
I must’ve been mistaken.
I would’ve been too busy or cool
for the old man and a film.
He’s gone now.
I wished I had.
It was a hell of a movie.