Smoke Signals

On a morning much too bright,
he sat in her old black Dodge
outside of the hospital. Tobacco
stains washing his teeth, jacket
reeking of the blue collar "hard life".

A stone glare, and pasted on his lips, a
Frozen smirk. He slowly patted his
Stomach, which repeatedly threatened to
Upset the balance of mess on passenger seats
Or the coloring of the car's rubber mats.

For months, he had come here everyday
To check on her with his Stories. But today,
Today was the last. His tired eyes watched
The events that unfolded outside: a weary wife
Nearby, hands full, a fat and ugly newborn.

For a time, his mind wandered, his right
Hand moved towards his jeans pocket, and
He removed the last cigarette of a cheap,
Tattered pack of Marlboro's, then lighter.
He stuck the end in his mouth, and then lit.

The car slowly filled with an old stink
The same smell as his smoking days during
Their "honeymoon" years. He tried forgetting
His cares about Then. But he knew he would
Miss these afternoons wallowed in smoke.

He scanned the digital clock several times.
Time passed slowly, as he disdained
outside families who looked too much like
They had in their Better Years. Finally,
he flung the dying cigarette to the winds.