THE SMOKERS DEN

 THE SMOKERS DEN

In every public place lurks a smokers den,

Not a place to frequent every now and then.

Where countless workers have gathered and nattered,

With thousands spent on the knub ends randomly scattered.

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Where men lounge in the sun, whilst women huddle in the cold,

Seating an old stool, with a cushion flecked in mould.

Standing in doorways, yellowing and weather-beaten skin,

That rattling cough conceals the horrors deep within.

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Friends like conspirators, they continue to smile,

Perpetual motion of hand, sucking hard in denial.

Like a witches coven crowding a steaming brew,

Or the menacing stance of a sinister hooded crew.

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The pub or office doorway, a battle against the crowd,

The heavy smoke of cigarettes hangs like a leaden cloud.

Dining out is disturbed, after the main course is taken,

As the smokers depart rapidly, to the outside smoking den.

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Like the desperate lepers of Spinalonga island,

To the dreadful conditions in the jails of Thailand.

These places should be a thing of the distant past,

How can people enjoy being like a social outcast?

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Non smokers getting agitated at the length of breaks,

 

We need to reconsider this situation for all our sakes.

Let’s readdress the problem of the outside smokers den,

Bring back the smokers coffee lounge and start over again.

Phil Hall   June  2012