Gaslight Cigarette: A Prayer.

May I be the oldest living person
Who once believed the lie
that smoking is rebellion.


So that no more children of abuse
enter this prison
Seeking solace
And then turn around years later to bars.


May they be warned by my weakness
Saddened by my addiction
And see me as very uncool.


May I die old and grey
shriveled and tan
smelling only of fancy face oils.


May the gaslight
on the foggy front lawn in me
Which had been slowly dimmed
For too many decades

Be turned back up
By my own new
And stronger hand.


May it release it’s fuel
So quickly and completely
That it explodes;
Extinguishes.
Is replaced by a solar panel.


And then, finally
May I lose my lighter
On a lazy Sunday at the river
powered by a new sun
That can’t burn me.


May it drop from a loose pocket
Into the swirling current I am perched above
On a safe and sturdy branch,
And May I never buy another.