Cigar Smoke

The gravelly wheeze of his voice, like stones

rubbing against each other, as we sat

in a claustrophobic car. You drove, peering

through a hole you’d made for yourself

in the windshield’s fog. The heat seemed to steam

from his invisible breath. His voice rising

into itself, like water on the verge

of boiling. You turned up the radio,

following hidden commands, you laughed at 

something newly within my grasp. The contours of cruelty

creeped down my spine, as I thought of pummeling

in schoolyard grass, broken glasses. My stomach

tightens, years later, when smoke makes

Its way across a patio, closing the distance

between the past and present. The image 

of his smirk, chomping on a cigar before

blowing smoke, easing into another attack, 

comes to mind. Nausea takes hold, summer sun

bearing down on me like the car heat you ran full blast.

I wonder what you listen to nowadays,

If you fill the daily hours with music or news,

Or if you just swallow static.