Marlboro Wishes

I watch pebbles send ripples dancing
across the half-congealed sludge
of a gas puddle left behind
by a nondescript driver
in a badly painted pickup
picking cigarette butts out of the ashtrays
in this abandoned parking lot.

You study me with steady eyes
over horn-rimmed glasses
and lips lined a working-girl red;
in a fit of inspiration,
I let the puddle settle
and tell you
I've been skipping wishes
across the aurora borealis
hoping for a break.

Before you drive away,
taillights red beneath a red light,
you strike a match across the dash
and hold it to your Marlboro Red.

Take a drag, working girl,
and leave it still-smoking for me.