Pouches

The smell of pure mint winter green,

Dark brown patches touching like sardines.

One pouch on each side.

Fiberglass piercing the gums is what makes it sting.

But it’s a good sting. More of a burn.

The taste of the tar,

Bleeding out of the patches

Careful not to drip down my throat.

Spit.

I miss the buzz.

The feeling of my eyelids slowly closing.

Euphoria.

Serenity.

Then yearning.

I pull both pouches out.

Toss the round can of minty sardines.

Till next time…