A white fog swirled around me, dense, murky, incomprehensible.

A fog that I watched with a child’s eyes as it came and went.

They smoked, my mom and dad. Smoke that was this fog, a poison fog.

It started when I was a tiny boy, my coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing.

They tried to stop, they really did.

But they were hooked, addicts just like a junkie with his needles.

It started when I was a teenage boy, their coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing.

They should have stopped, they couldn’t stop.

They were users, so still they smoked. Smoke that was a fog, a poison fog.

My father gone, my mother critical, their coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing.

They finally stopped: death made them stop.

No longer hooked — for users, death is the only winner.

I have never smoked; no more coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing.

I watched them smoke, my lessons learned.

I was very well trained — I’ll never create that poison fog.

This poem and the included images are Copyright © 2008 by Colin Kelly (colinian). They cannot be reproduced without express written consent. Codey’s World web site has written permission to publish this poem. No other rights are granted.

If you enjoyed reading this poem, please let me know! Authors thrive by the feedback they receive from readers. It's easy: just click on the email link at the bottom of this page to send me a message. Say “Hi” and tell me what you think about A Poison Fog. Thanks.