Sleepy-eyed on lazy afternoons
I amble to your door even before
Other afternoon rituals are observed,
And pound and shout / kick and pout
Until you, disgruntled lazy bum
Let me in with a silly glare.
After I've got my daily hug
Back you sprawl upon your bed
Which complains with pitiful creaks / shrieks;
I go fishing / scavenging through your drawer
For matchsticks and six two-rupee coins.
Then I dart across our patch of grass
Dodging airborne spit-bombs, ants and snakes
And fetch from the other side of the wall
A smoke for you, a smoke for me;
Our happy puffs punctuated
With feeble rings and mindless chatter.
But soon some Sunday, slave of habit
I'll drag my feet to your warm black door
To find it locked with cold steel;
For you'll be gone with all your loose change
And I'll have to buy my own cigarettes
And in silence, smoke alone.