Emily Elizabeth Buckley

‘an unpleasant or unhealthy smell or vapour’
‘an oppressive or unpleasant atmosphere which surrounds or emanates from
something’

I wish I smoked cigarettes,
I’d go outside daily,
watch fag smoke float into the air,
strum on my ukulele.

Gentle music makes a backdrop
to the film’s projection
a new world of beautiful light
of fag smoke’s creation.

Dragons fly through fire ashen smoke.
When the porch light hits it,
a bright fantasy world appears.
The nicotine has hit.

Odin fights the tax collector,
throws him from Valhalla
while Loki performs a Norse dance,
Thor on the piano.

Frigg beheads the greedy loan shark,
I tap dance on the grave.
Pull tar and ash into my lungs
and watch them misbehave.

Urðr turns back the hands on the clock,
changes my credit score,
and makes it green for the first time.
I sip coffee with Baldr.

But I don’t smoke cigarettes,
I kinda wish I did,
so I could meet the pagan gods,
and get out of my bed.

Previously published in Hive Avenue Literary Journal