A handsome boy smokes cigarettes by the curb

In the company of others and at other times in solitude

He weeps inside and nobody knows he can’t go back

For he made his bed and chooses to live by his herb

The city goes forth, with reasons aplenty to stay awake

He watches it from the curb wishing it was a suburb

Seasons spring forth from monotony as colloquies change

And tears inside that began as drops become a lake

All the while he keeps a poker face on, at all times

Always worried about what he might say or betray

The smoke fuels his restraint but eats away at him

“Am I any more relevant than those wind chimes?”

The lady draws the curtain and closes the blinds shut

She distances her family from the nuisance on the curb

She wants to move away, from the stares to the suburb

Leaving behind the handsome boy and his sorry rut

He redirects his gaze from the wind chimes to elsewhere

Cars speed away around him, sparing him fleeting glances

Behind the curtain and blinds lay his whole world, his kids

He smokes at the curb because he’s not allowed in there