The Pipe Smoker
The pipe was being smoked
by the invisible man I suppose
or by an actual ghost. It was
suspended in the air and the
smoke left its aroma in the air.
I thought twice about grabbing
that pipe. I did not want an
elbow to my ribs or to my face.
Who was I to stop an unseen
being from smoking a pipe?
Worst of all, what if I reached
for it and I missed, or if the pipe
was a figment of my imagination?
What if I was seeing things?
That would really drive me mad.
About the Author: Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in The Abyss, Ariel Chart, As It Out To Be, Blue Collar Review, and Unlikely Stories. Deadbeat Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, New Polish Beat, Poet’s Democracy, Propaganda Press, Pygmy Forest Press, and Ten Pages Press have published his poetry books and chapbooks.
More by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal:
Image Credit: Adrien Alban Tournachon “Dog smoking a pipe” (1860) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.