Blowing Smoke, 1971
So, we beat a hasty retreat to the confines
Of our minds, the second story apartment
Two fights up from America, and more
Important—not in Vietnam. We were there
Congregants congregating. Each holding
Our own pipe and dreams, as we tamped
Reality, hashing angst and anger down
Against hope. Hoping to see a future
Through the smoke that was being blown.
The candle was there, flame fed by a draft,
An old war here, young versus old, haves
Versus nots, the certain versus whatever.
O’Leary lit up first, bleary-eyed and pale.
Don’t believe what they tell you. Inhale.
*
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of Planet Mort (FootHills Publishing, 2024) and the chapbook Olive-drab Khaki Blues (FootHills, 2026). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.
