Ode to My Nicotine Angel

You come in every night

to buy Marb Lights and Mountain Dew.

I count the change and do my best

not to stare at you.

You browse and shop

around the store,

but buy pop and cigarettes

and nothing more.

I long to say something smooth

to make you notice this bashful clerk.

But I simply open my drawer-

fumbling pennies like a jerk.

Everyday I hope you'll leave a sign

to show me that you care:

a perfumed white glove; a silken scarf;

or a single strand of hair.

But you just take a drink of Dew

and open up your pack.

And what have I until the time

when you come back?

What means are there to sooth

this lovesick turmoil?

A ball of Marlboro cellophane,

and that little piece of foil.