Homeless Guy Looking for Cigarettes at the Bus Stop

He picks up a crushed butt,
Doral, with lipstick stain.
“Low tar, less nicotine,” he frowns.
Old adage of beggars and choosers.
Inhaling, his mouth caresses the livid filter,
Color of a blood spoor,
As he dreams of kisses from the legal secretary he dated
All those many years ago.

David Fewster