Cigar

 

   

A red glow of Lucifer
amidst the white ash
almost touching
the tip of my nose
almost burning flesh
while his eyeglasses
slipped on slick, summer sweat
as he scrunched his cheeks & nose
to push them back up,
and oh I watched,
as the intensity of his anger built
in eyes red-blue, glaring 
down his cigar, bearing
down on my teenage frame
as my feeble hands & arms flailed & failed
to hurt him & protect me
from his strength, such power of a father,
short & stocky like a cigar butt,
whose body was burning with pain,
this cancer in his beer gut,
a fire lunging & scorching, spreading,
and whose heart finally failed
before I said I was sorry,
and I was sorry, later,
even though he was wrong
he was my father,
and I am sorry
as the memory of his cigar
burns so close,
to the tip of my nose
I can taste the pungent heat
.