UNTIL HE FELL OFF

Thanks must go again to the Secret Poets for helping with this post's poem. You can read the earlier version here. 

CHOCOLATE CIGARETTES

We’d buy them at Parrs on the way to the matinee.

One of us would open a packet

and offer them round just like proper ciggies,

pretend to smoke until the end got too soggy

then peel the paper away reveal cylinders

of cheap chocolate pocked with holes.

Camel, Chesterfield, Lucky Strike.

A double whammy indoctrination

the normalisation of a lethal addiction

plus the superiority of American culture.

Well, I mean, that’s Elvis up there on the screen

riding the wall of death until he fell off,

one hot August night in 1977.

As you can see the poem has lost all the first verse [save for one line] and gained a title. There was some discussion as to whether I needed to include candy cigarettes as the focus of the poem was the chocolate variety. I think it is tighter now. Oh the joys of constructive feedback from people you respect. 

Here's Anna Ternheim live. 

Until next time.