Kicking It ( I.P.)

For once in our lives we agree.
Yes, it is ‘a frigging filthy habit’,
but I’m not entirely to blame. Those
‘business trips’ abroad...months
you spent off-shore on various
oil-rigs, when you’d bring back
hundreds – duty-free; stashed them
in a drawer; a twenty a day man
as you were. I didn’t smoke, then;
never even had the one.

But I was happy enough...I had
the kids to bring up...virtually
single handed and some days
I felt down. Lonely, I guess...
living out in the sticks as we did.
Hid behind the settee, on those
rare occasions when the door-bell rang,
and yet, company was what I needed...
except, I didn’t quite see things
that way.

That’s where cigarettes came in –
it gave the rebel inside me something
to kick against. Better that than
pulling my hair out; and no – it wasn’t
alopecia. Yes...I know what I told you.
OK – so I lied! When push comes to shove,
we all end up as part of the audience
watching the play we kidded ourselves
we had the star role in; mine, undoubtedly,
a Whitehall farce.

I am my own worst enemy, sure,
and it’s clear you despise me but,
after all this time, I won’t change,
only please – don’t go; not to her,
and not for good. Old habits die hard,
much like us, really. When push
comes to shove, just something to grasp,
hold on to – cigarettes, I mean. A bit
like that glass...Scotch on the rocks
was it? I’ll top it up.