The Tobacconist

 

I stride with adopted arrogance through the door

an almost brazen entry across a varnished floor

Signs abound, Smoking can Kill

with a smiling cashier standing behind the till

I glance about as a potential buyer

and do the fragrance of tobacco savour

Other customers seem to hide their shame

and refer to the tobacconist by another name

I peer at a vast array of aromatic resin

and decide which I shall fill my pipe with

A vast unrealistic sum is transacted

for the benefit of the Tax Office enacted

Before taking my leave I purchase a box of matches

reminded by my jacket which has many burnt patches

Out in the street I boldly light up

frowned by some but I could´nt give a fuck