Thursday, January 23, 2014

Patrick Trotti- A Poem

Lil Wayne and Humphrey Bogart 
 i wake up in the middle of the night,
a wheezing coming from my chest.
phlegm exiting the lungs,
onto the back of my tongue.
coughing that goes for hours,
building on itself.
it goes away eventually,
i tell myself it’s only temporary.
i have good luck,
when it comes to things like terminal illnesses.
my friends call me wheezy,
with an h,
not that weezy f. baby,
because i can’t rap and i only have one tattoo.
no dreads, no milli, just a cough,
an inheritance from my grandpa.
they said smoking menthol is bad for you,
there’s fiber glass in the filter,
but at least there’s a filter,
browned by the time i get to the filter,
filter my expectations through Joe Camel,
remember him?
dude looked like a boss,
had hella fun,
lived opposite of what the nun…
at sunday school taught us to.
used to pretend to smoke,
in the winter,
at the bus stop,
blowing out cold breaths,
pencil used as my bogie,
feeling like a twenty-first century Humphrey Bogart.
if i ever get famous,
i’m getting paid in cartons,
those nat sherman’s,
the ones in the slim square packs,
refined, cultured,
just like the leading men from the black and whites.
is that a pack in your pocket,
or are you just happy to see me?

Bio: Patrick Trotti grew up on second hand smoke, Lego's, and pizza. Check him out at

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