Diction

Diction

The horrible chocolate lashes my tongue
A diction too far.
Flags outside point skyward,
dithering hems print sound waves
across the Western Ave.
A coffee cup, filled with sugar, milk and truth,
writes rings in an honest saucer.
Cigarette smoke lurks,
its subconscious laid down
on the flaws of youth.
Nicotining taste buds from memory
Begging on its knees
To take me back
into the fold of smokers
by the front door,
their minimalist fire brigade
burning up the carnival
of a frozen spring.

Jerry Pike