“Crack-Cocaine” by PJ Lombardo

Final Girl (Crack-Cocaine)

Just like my daddy:
blowtorch, glass pipe,
soapy chunk, odorless
smoke-grenades gut-punching
me six ways from Sunday.

See, people know smoking is unhealthy.
We don’t do healthy.
We don’t do calm.
We don’t do zen.
We don’t do nirvana.
We don’t do good grammar.
We don’t do white teeth.

I stain paintings.
I shatter plates.
I punch my parents with sentences.
I make them punchlines.
I snap loved ones over my knee,
like branches.

What no one understands about crack-cocaine,
is you’re already a junkie before you do it.

Something inside you is fire.
You don’t even need the welder’s lighter
to scorch the rock. It’s just nice:

to see it manifested,
the bloods and the oranges melting in
perfect harmony
beneath the scarred bowl.

I’m not trying to convince you of anything,
but if you’re going to do it,
you’re going to do it.
Just don’t steal my stash.

It is bad for you,
like fast food,
and coffee,
and the cigarettes your sister
steals from your mother,
and it’s there
and I am oh-too-deliciously
aware of it.

 

 

PJ Lombardo is a lunacy-advocate and omnivore from northern New Jersey, regrettably. His work has been published in, and is in the process of being published in, assorted magazines. He hopes you enjoy his poetry.

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