They stand on the corner
By the cross walk,
No matter the weather.
Clothed in black,
Pockets down by knees,
They stand in a circle -
Black sore on the sidewalk.
They stand on the sidewalk
Smoking cigarettes,
Cigarettes drooping.
Almost falling, but not quite
from mouths held in sneers
Mouths speaking jeers -
Black air on the corner.
Eye down,
breath held,
pace quickened,
others,
sidestep,
intimidated,
by those smokin' on the corner.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
They stand on the corner
By the cross walk,
No matter the weather.
Clothed in black,
Pockets down by knees,
They stand in a circle -
Black sore on the sidewalk.
They stand on the sidewalk
Smoking cigarettes,
Cigarettes drooping.
Almost falling, but not quite
from mouths held in sneers
Mouths speaking jeers -
Black air on the corner.
Eye down,
breath held,
pace quickened,
others,
sidestep,
intimidated,
by those smokin' on the corner.
Until I was 10, on my way to school I had to walk through the "Smoker's Corner" where all the high school students who smoked had their morning cigarettes. I wrote this poem when I was 9, and I was absolutely terrified.
