Forgotten Popsicle stick
Dominates in ashtray.
He broke it in half once
But it's been there a while.

He remembered.
Spending summer night.
Outside-
While his dad
Smoked in chains;
Wisps dusting
Humid air.

They just talked.
Cigarettes devoured,
Popsicles slurped
And bitten,
Even as sensitive
Teeth screamed,
Each left
Distinct tastes on the lips.

The ashtray began to crowd,
Butts piled high.
But he'd found a perch
For Popsicle stick
Stained blue.

But then his dad moved out.
And Popsicles
Soon turned to cigarettes,
That lone stick
Being one of the last.
Eventually he dumped the tray,
To get rid of his dad and
Make room for his own addiction.