The tense terse dude who puffs e-cigs on the bus
is back to his smokes, both ends pinched as tight
as his lips. The bus reeks for blocks after
he shuffles to the back, sits hunched over
against the back wall. He taps his fingers
on his thighs, clenches his hands, grabs the stub
out of his mouth, then shoves it back, and starts
tapping again, restlessly. At lunch break,
I find a pack of Pall-Malls on the bench.
A hospital staffer is hiding
behind a tree, away from No-Smoking signs,
between the treetrunks and the student dorms.
She tosses a quick glance at me, then tosses
her shoulders back, as if about to face
a firing squad, strides brazenly thru the door.