Low Down
By Steve Heins
Here, at quarter past night,
I light another cigarette.
The smoke corkscrews its way
in the air, into my lungs.
The purist aerobic animals
proclaim their faith to holistic heavens.
They lecture me with their New Age wisdom,
while planning their macrobiotic menus.
Attending their high impact churches,
they add purified water to their bodily fluids.
As the low priest of health,
I question heaven, its contents
And the wisdom of wisdom,
as I gobble the fast food of fate.
Avoiding the fascistic
masses of exercise,
I swill cheap wine
through my faulty bladder.
Steve Heins, 199
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