Sometimes I wish I drank coffee

    or smoked Marlboros， or maybe cigars——

    yes， a hand-rolled Havana cigar

    in its thick， manly wrapping，

    and I'd be writing about war and old losses——

    man things——and not where I am， in this

    pristine and sensitive vessel， all

    fizzy water， reticence， and care， all reduced

    fat and purified air， behind my deprived

    computer， where I can't manage even

    a decaf cap， a mild Tiparillo， a glass of

    great-taste-less-filling light beer.