“Cigar” © C.P. Hickey 2018







Sometimes, I feel like it’s all a bit of a fuck’all.

Sometimes, I rub my hands together in anticipation of something good happening,

it doesn’t.

Sometimes, I press the elevator button that has already been pressed,

I can’t explain why.

Sometimes, I check the date on random fire extinguishers.

Sometimes, I try not to get gas on my hands when I’m filling my car’s gas tank at the gas station.

Sometimes,  I eat the whole pizza.

Sometimes, I get so mad I could spit, that I spit.

Sometimes, people meet the poor expectations I hold of them.

Sometimes, I wish that people complaining, lose a week of their lives for every complaint they make.

Sometimes, I am paralyzed by my own befuddlement.

Sometimes, I really don’t care how you feel.

Sometimes, I just want it to be quiet.

Sometimes, too many people have too many opinions about too many things.

Sometimes, I fall asleep while I’m sitting there waiting for the proper time to go to sleep.

Sometimes, people ask too much of me.

Sometimes, I think you’re an asshole.

Sometimes, I need some time.

Sometimes, I feel like an old crushed Cuban cigar, illegally purchased and smuggled over the border from Canada, and kept in a baggie for enjoyment at a later time, that due to time and forgetting has been reduced to unsmokable, but unable to be thrown away because of the sentimental value attached to it.



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