Failure to Thrive

Every Monday I quit smoking
again,
the air of a freshly smoked
cigar wafts from the seat cushions
in my Corolla.
Every trip to the pharmacy
and the library
and the grocery...
another task I cannot bear.
Tongue salivates for that sweet nicotine
to coat it ever so gently—
heavy butterfly kisses in the rain
and yes I know the next morning
I’ll wake up with a cold so severe
it will shake my body violently with
coughs
and sneezes
and some sort of headache.
But I set my foot right
into the trap every time.
It’s so beautiful out there
in the wild
and I’m so beautiful when I’m wild.