You weren’t a man
unless you smoked
my mother claimed—
back in the old days,
back in the old country.
Sixth grade lessons taught us
the dangers of smoking. Of course
we went home from school
encouraging our parents to quit.
My father finally tried
many years later
when his heart began to fail—
too addicted to nicotine and additives
by then.
Cleaning out, we found a candy-like
red-and-white pack hidden
in the rafters of his basement workshop.
It looked crisp, untouched,
the cellophane wrapper in place,
but my father had slit a small hole
to extract and sneak a smoke—another
to take his life away.
Christel Maass
Christel Maass lives in southeastern Wisconsin. She enjoys gardening, hiking, and exploring her beautiful home state. Christel frequently writes about nature and has been widely published in print and online.
Portage Magazine 