Inhaled, indelible  

40-a-day road-trips,  

in a 3-door lagoon-blue 

Mark II Hillman Imp. 

Backseat passive passengers 

tapped and shuffle packed.  

Oblivious to the slow burn, 

no open windows, not even a crack. 

Upfront, ritual smokes, 

their bond of small pleasure. 

Love over Embassy Gold 

compact and ash-covered. 

Dad’s heart said give up. 

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