There Is No Shame In Smoking

By Meghna Mallik

So comes the matter of drinking,

And goes the need to smoke a 19th time.

But when has fish in the murky water,

Not complained about being in the clear?

I stood by the crosswalk for example, and

A pair of legs jumped out into the red and blue.

There was supposed material read wrong,

For the label was ripped off before the tires did.

She wrapped her arms like ribbons by his neck

And he sipped on his third tea since an hour.

They were called happy because they blushed

Red in hopes someone mistook it for blood.

We can drive and paint and write and drink,

Under the same—roofs, tiles, bricks, thatches

—commonality that we need to feel normal,

Just to know there exists one, to sing once more.

As smoke is the last matter on the 19th

Day of inhaling drugs that exist to save you:

Time spent on your blanket, floods on the pillow;

Are still the songs that smoke is ash without.

By Meghna Mallik