I remember tobacco
floating in the dusky twilight air
in clouds over our porch
while my father
puffed out his pipe, blowing
that I tried to catch before they tangled,
hanging around the flickering fluorescent bulb.
At school, they said,
“Smoking is bad!
While I breathed in heady nicotine
at Irish festivals, pubs, malls, restaurants
Holding my mom’s hand
At parties with my parents’ friends
Rooms full of gray-haired musicians
Passing around cigars, cigarillos, cigarettes.
I will never know smoking is wrong.