Sometimes I wish I drank coffee
or smoked Marlboros， or maybe cigars——
yes， a hand-rolled Havana cigar
in its thick， manly wrapping，
and I'd be writing about war and old losses——
man things——and not where I am， in this
pristine and sensitive vessel， all
fizzy water， reticence， and care， all reduced
fat and purified air， behind my deprived
computer， where I can't manage even
a decaf cap， a mild Tiparillo， a glass of
great-taste-less-filling light beer.