Ode from an ashtray

A car horn repeats itself,
the driver unaware that he,
lacking in simple concepts,
could always ring the doorbell.

I roll a cigarette
over the din.
Light it and inhale.

Staring through the still smoke
I think about her drunk eyes
that watched me intently
as that thing between my legs
did it's thing.

The car horn stops
without stopping.
I am elsewhere,
my arm around her
in the middle of nowhere.

If it wasn't for my need
to be outside smoking
80% of my drinking life
I may never have met her.

I'll quite happily take
lung cancer in exchange
for that.