Nostalgia on a Tuesday

I smell it

Slightly singed hair

Vaseline

Burning off

Filling the air

With acrid smoke

The iron comb

Doing duty

Like the primus stove

No price on beauty

Saturday night

Is waiting

A lifetime away

Fewer and fewer

Still

In the land of the living

I smell it

On your hands

Cigarettes

Burning off

Filling the air

With acrid smoke

The iron lung

Doing duty

Like the lost soul

No price on liberty

Every day

Slipping away

Fewer and fewer

Still

In the land of the living

By Simone Beatrice Naik Hagfeldt. Nostalgia on a Tuesday… while flat ironing my hair I’m grateful for new technology and suddenly this memory of a Saturday afternoon at my grandmother’s house when my aunts were ‘doing’ their hair. They used to smoke outside and had this respect, not smoking in front of their elders. Surely everyone could smell that they smoked?, 2014-04-1