15 cigarettes go fast when no one is on the other side of a 1-way mirror
Even in drywall conversations
Each corner joined, connected
Held up by the other
When another's cough of smoke is the first note of a favorite song
Or in a far-flung thought, a wish even
And not far, from the apartment above...
To not notice it
Even bitter fruit is better than hungry
Clothes peeled rinds on the hardwood floors of a countertop memory
Unperfect like plastic knives, serrated lips
To cut the cake with Marlboro candles
And wait for a piece
For the cough to take it or to drop it or to scrunch their face at it
For the cough to be close enough to no longer cough because the smoke had cleared
And for the 15 reasons, even one note is a song
William Weiss is a writer hailing from Pasadena, California. He works with disabled adults to help expand their capabilities and possibilities, and as a musician, he loves the rhythm behind words and the diverse dialog of interpretation poetry brings. You can often find William brooding over a line under his desk, sitting on his desk, on the floor, in a crowded elevator, or really any place that he has a second to think. He is a recently published poet featured or forthcoming in The Broadkill Review, Wingless Dreamer, Moonstone Arts Center, and a semifinalist for Philadelphia Stories’ National Prize in Poetry.