A Rollie Upon Waking

That morning
sitting up
in a never-made
bed, and
rolling a cigarette-
its ends
unkempt with
brown-golden
tobacco
and loose bits
all in his lap-

he thought
of her.
He no longer
gave
a damn.

He thought that
ends of his
rollie looked
like an old man

like him

with hair growing
from his ears,

he thought
of her
and wrote
a poem

because

he no longer
gave
a damn.