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Peter Adair - Pipe Man

from One Minute Poems by Rancid Idols Productions

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lyrics

Pipe Man

This morning at three.
The ghost of a cough,
hard, hacking –
a pipe smoker’s.

A dream, I suppose,
unless there are ghosts
in these enlightened days
of empty ashtrays.

The wind was wailing.
Fatal for his buggered lungs,
fatal for his old body
slumped on the sofa.

A whiff of Condor,
or was it Saint Bruno?
Days when men
strode through Alpine passes,

legendary names
in the dying art
of keeping a pipe lit
in all weathers.

credits

from One Minute Poems, released October 6, 2022
'Pipe Man' originally appeared in Issue 15 of FourXFour Poetry Journal, Feb '16.

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Rancid Idols Productions Northern Ireland, UK

Digital publisher of poetry and sounds.

We like words and we like noise.

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