Tyler R. Martin
Stroll ’round campus,
February, brisk,
Bukowski under one arm,
Hair wet from an
Ill conceived shower,
Grumbling, having left my
Smokes at home.
’tis not the Army, my man,
A voice whispers,
This is college, this is
Shithead country,
This is beta-males and alpha bitches
Lamenting about the plights of
People they have no want to meet.
This is the land of soy lattes and no
Cigarettes.
I have no need for tofu, guys,
Ty needs nicotine, mainlined if necessary,
Right to the fucking heart,
I don’t wanna talk about the alliance
Of gay and straight people,
Sorry, but I wanna smoke and
Sit quietly. Any takers?
No, then can I bum one?-
Confused stares all around,
Mean like cigarettes?
Sure doll, got one?
No, but I have a flier for blah blah blahβ¦..
Fuck meβ¦..
I hate college, everyone so health
Conscious I’m feeling sick myself,
So righteously political I’m steadily
Leaning more towards anarchism,
This is the bum’s lament,
A true Valentine Smith,
A Stranger in a Strange Land,
Lost and without a smoke.
bourbon, cigarettes and syllables 