North by Northwestern

Solace: cigarette.
Sitting on a sturdy bench,
I puff silently.

An afternoon break,
I gaze into the distance
thinking of what’s near.

To my left: trashcan.
That which I have forgotten.
To be disposed of.

To my right: briefcase.
My belongings at my side,
A modern nomad.

My veins protruding
From my experienced hands
Too bad they can’t talk.