A Poet but didn't Know it

Andrew and I went to Boda's Pipe Shop on Saturday, which was a lot of fun. However, I will admit that I was initially unhappy about our seating arrangements as we had to sit at a miniature table my legs could barely fit under. Andrew and a German guy named Roman started up a conversation, so I decided I'd write a poem. Ok, don't laugh, but here it is:

In a room Filled with Smoke,
Surrounded by sounds of men chattering,
Old men, young men, bald men, tall men.
Prints of Scarface and Al Capone affixed to the walls,
Sports blasting on two different T.V's.
The smoke, the near nauseating smoke,
The ashes - both stacked and dropped,
Smoke stark white, most grey or black,
Both indications of cheap or well-made.
Colorful bands, moved in motions of mouth to hand,
Oily, glossy wrappers,
Often packed with foreign fillers,
Full or mild in flavor,
Some as sharp as razors.
An all day event for some,
A lifetime commitment for most.

It's a work in progress, but I'm considering submitting it for a few contests just for fun!

While writing this poem I sought divine inspiration from Hemingway with an Arturo Fuente Hemingway cigar. It was great as always- and there's not much else to say about it!