I smelled her before I saw her,
Tobacco remnants heavy in the air.
A waft of the taste of Dickensian smog,
So dense it was almost sticky.
I’d never seen anyone with a mouth like the proverbial puckered arsehole before
But there she was,
Smelling of nicotine and bonfires,
Grey eyes circled in wonky blue liner.
I couldn’t help wondering
How does someone fit a cigarette
Between lips as tight and tense as those?
It must be a hell of a squeeze.
***
I remembered writing this poem and desperately wanted to publish it but couldn’t find it in any of my diaries or notebooks. I turned my room upside down to find it. I hope it was worth it. x
Noni Doll 