My Mistake

by June T. Bassemir

She was only a wee mite,

with hair of snow white.

She reminded me so much of Gram.

With unsteady feet,

she crossed the broad street.

It was then, I looked down at her hand.

There was white curling smoke,

and this is no joke;

her fingers had nicotine stain.

How revolting that sight,

and to boot – she was TIGHT!

It gave me a queer sort of pain.

                  

(ca: 1950)

copyright June T. Bassemir, 2012