Tendrils of cigarette smoke
swirl up to my bunk
curl in the air
it stunk
So I’d twirl the crank
open the tiny window
breathe fresh air
through the dusty
musty screen
it stunk
But not as bad
as Old Gold
bare butt smoke
_________________________-
I missed the first Quadrille Monday of the year at dVerse Poets Pub because we were travelling and I didn’t have time. But I read the prompt and the idea of a short poem using the word “curl” has been swirling in my mind ever since. I decided I’d catch up with Open Link Night