Song of Smoke
By Kevin Young
To watch you walk
cross the room in your black
corduroys is to see
civilization start—
the wish-
whish-whisk
of your strut is flint
striking rock—the spark
of a length of cord
rubbed till
smoke starts—you stir
me like coal
and for days smoulder.
I am no more
a Boy Scout and, besides,
could never
put you out—you
keep me on
all day like an iron, out
of habit—
you threaten, brick-
house, to burn
all this down. You leave me
only a chimney.
Kevin Young, "Song of Smoke" from Jelly Roll: A Blues. Copyright © 2003 by Kevin Young. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Source:
Jelly Roll
(Alfred A. Knopf, 2003)
