• My mother has a habit
    That she was trying to quit
    Cigarettes, a problematic habit
    At my elementary age of eight
    She acquainted me to a Camel
    To attempt to show me how
    Absolutely harrowing it was
    I loathed it, blazing red hot at
    The end, stained white and gold
    Choking me, leaving a putrid taste
    But somehow, it just gave me a new
    Thirst to quench, I became inquisitive
    So naturally, who would suspect the
    Virtuous third grader, eight years old
    Of thieving her cherished mother’s
    Shag wrapped in that same pale and
    Tawny color, calling a new casualty
    To its baleful and pallid etiquettes