Marsh Wheeling Darks
Marsh Wheeling Darks,
That is what my dad smoked.
They are what got him the nickname, “Smokey”.
One of my earliest memories is
Of my father trusting me enough
To go to the corner store
To pick him up a pack of cigars.
I remember climbing down the
Poured concrete stairway at the
Back of my house, with money in hand
On my way to pick up his
Marsh Wheeling Darks.
Whenever I smell a cigar today,
Whether it is a genuine Cuban
Or a cheap knockoff, I am always
Taken back to the image of my
Father with a cigar in his mouth.
Living in that cloud of smoke
That both my mother and father
Blew into the air made me
A lover of the outdoors and
Long walks in the woods, breathing fresh air.
Marsh Wheeling Darks.
I probably inhaled hundreds of them
Without ever lighting a match.
Roy W. Backes
© 2007
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 