Entry: Forgive Me Saturday, November 17, 2007



And one by one they would come
The old ones, the senior citizens
And they would sit around the table

And they would light their cigarettes
And they would light their cigarettes
And they would light their cigarettes
And they would light their cigarettes

And although all the doors and windows are closed
The smoke would somehow wafts through and fills the house
The living room, the kitchen, the bedroom
And I would sometimes hear my child cough,
Or—although less often—hear him wheeze in his sleep
Inside the air-conditioned room
And I would feel tightness in my chest

And still they light their cigarettes
And still they light their cigarettes
And still they light their cigarettes
And still they light their cigarettes

And so I ask you for forgiveness, my child, my son, my sun
For I am powerless in the face of a habit that's older than me
For I have bartered your health with politeness
Trying not to offend those who precede me

Forgive me, my world
For I cannot guarantee you the fresh air you need
Although they said that the air we breathe
Is the only thing that's free

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