Cafe Dome

sunlit café ashtray sparkles steel scarred with age
dimpled with sacred scorch marks and ancient ash stains
try to imagine with your nose. try to taste
         a thousand and twelve Gauloise Blondes 
         two hundred fifty seven Winston Specials 
         three thousand thirty nine Lucky Strikes
         four hundred sixty six hand-rolled Drums
         five thousand twenty five Marlboro Lights
         (all this in the past month)
gain a sense of the scent that must linger
in this haven for secondhand smokers, inhaling
the night with their beer, escaping their cares
poisoning their chairs. the pale Beachwood tables
stained an ashen beige. worn woven wicker stools
stained legs and holes in the weave