Issue Seventeen – December 2010


By Paul Walsh

Even if I quit smoking I could never give up my Zippo.
This battered old engine, reeking of Father’s touch and fossil fuel,
fits in my hand like a cool steel skipping stone.

My thumb flips the lid’s familiar clank
and on the downstroke reignites the first victory over darkness
and the first reassuring words of God.

Copyright Paul Walsh 2010