The Ironic Oxymoron of the Stinking Cloud

My father has a lover ー

She is thin, white, and full of so many bad things

I have tried to hide her from him since I was little

Hoping the cravings would pass, but they never did.

Every time, he would yell at me

Until I gave those terrible, tempting cigarettes back.

He is calmed by their seduction,

And at this point I believe them to be inseparable.

But I realize the smell of that toxic tobacco smoke

Is now inseparable from memories of my father.

I hate the smell on anyone else.

I wrinkle my nose, hold my breath, and judge them.

And yet on him, it is normal, acceptable.

I breathe that smoke in like I would perfume.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

An interesting psychological study here. Tobacco odors on the father are "normal, acceptable," whereas on others they are obnoxious. Love is not rational in its tolerances. Well done.