Leftovers

I remember my first joint
skipping days in High School
me and a buddy bought it like that
pre-rolled
a real no-brainer

We passed it
back & forth
quickly & giddily
laughing & coughing
until near its end
at which we both met
with zealotry
a burned out roach

We tried sucking on it at a distance
making cones of our lips
to inhale the air around the butt
while clicking the big Bic flame
in the blindspot of our own noses

I’ve always had a Jew’s nose
from my maternal grandfather
planted in the middle of my face
so the spaces of the world
which I have never seen
have become a collective hole
in my perceivable existence

I rationalized outloud
if I’m holding the roach
in my fingertips
to my outstretched lips
there is at least a good inch
from my face to the flame
but
because I can’t see
past my own shnoz
my brain is responding
to an incalculable threat
and there aint no way
I can convince my brain otherwise

So,
I told my buddy
that I was going to close my eyes
inhale at the joint
while he slowly brought the flame
to ignite our charred little dilemma

We took some deep breaths
calmed our nerves
moved into the shade of the stairway
to reduce interference from the wind

I got ready
I heard a click
then two more
then some rustling
then another click
and boom
my lungs were full of smoke

We cheered
but it felt like
he burnt my fucking lips off
he didn’t though
I was fine

It didn’t matter
the gaiety ensued
I nursed my lips
& tried to tell him he fucked it up
but he hadn’t
& it didn’t matter
we laughed so hard
we couldn’t understand a word
either of us were saying