Fag

The smoking area
is nothing more than an old bus shelter
ten feet of concrete paving
and an old office chair

I see them
they come out one by one
in pairs
groups of three or four
they all come out to the old bus shelter
to light up
to stand on the concrete paving slabs
to suck and huddle
around tiny dots of amber
they shift
one foot to the other
stepping
standing
ambling awkwardly around tiny clouds

And i watch from up high
not morally
but literally
from the top of the building
dressed in black
a thin curious crow face

I bet they miss being able to smoke indoors
I bet the cold winter afternoon
stabs home that horrible truth
that thought
“this is going to kill me.”
“I bet i’m going to die of cancer.”
“will it be in my mouth?”
“my lung?”
shifting
stepping
one foot to the other
looking out into the day