the need to quit

I feel like I need to leave.
To quit. 
Not forever
I bet I’d be back. You'd see me
come back I feel sure.
Maybe later
on, long around midnight
suddenly seems like a party.
I come back through the door
like a sun, all prodigal, baring
my fatted calves, bargin’ in like
a dinghy - as is my wont, showing
my wonton ass (similar to a beer belly
except: beer goes straight to the belly,
wontons to the butt) with an orange ribbon
prize from the county fair to explain
my absence, as if it could. Or else

if I nod off early (actually I heard
there's an internet outage scheduled
tonight from midnight to six AM

- reason enough to quit!), what it looks
like in the morning is…probably what
we’ll see.

I'll either show back up or don't. Do not. 

For now, there are things I need to do. Tend to.

Take care of.

So, take care. 

Manage.

Obviate the necessity of avoiding this further.

I feel like I need to quit smoking, too - but 
do you see me doing it? No, I quit 
furtively. Only because the sanctimony 
of self-righteous and indignant assholes
exhorting me to my own good and benefit
GRATES, and the day I give them the satisfaction
- it's going to be for something else. Fuck them. 
That's your satisfaction. Sexual release. 
Now listen carefully before you answer: 
Want a cigarette?

For now I’m going to go out and smoke
yet one more last cigarette and ponder
the very idea itself, but feels like

at some point, it’s in the cards. You can
about bet your hand, you'll see the back
of me, yet
you'll see me back. 

As the Ace of Spades sitting flush
next to the Jack of Tens. What the hell
Jack, that’s one peculiar suit! Are you
hand-drawn in crayon or what?

Who slipped that in the deck - and
to round out the winning hand: OLD MAID.
UNO! And SORRRRY! I think 

my grandniece Colette got into the cards
last time. I recognize her handiwork, but

that's Fate. You bet the hand you're dealt, 
and if it smells, you make sure your face
indicates roses, as well as a deep, virile 
indifference for roses, which some 
mistake for greatness. 

Point is, that’s the hand you’re dealt,
you either deal yourself another right on top of it,
fold,
up the ante with one of your trademark incredible
bluffs, or play, on sheer oblivious. Tipped
off by Buddha, I choose the middle way.

Yeah. I think I’ll sit this hand out. Quit
for awhile, maybe sit on the other one, but
I’ll be back.

Between cigarettes,
you’ll be seeing me around
big time or small,
as the time grows between all moments,
'til the moments themselves become 
unnoticeable