Sometimes I'll pretend the cigarette smoke
is helium, and I'll
take a drag big enough
to make me
lighter
than
air, and I'll
float away as a sunbeam,
warm and blinding,
but a happy blinding, and I'll
smile down on people I used to know,
but I'm too high to recognize
their faces, and I'll
never have to worry
about expectations
or disappointment
or cancer,
because sunbeams don't get cancer,
they just are.