I don’t regret it, not smoking,
though times in my twenties, I couldn’t sit
through a movie whole. Halfway,
at the crucial second that weird sucked-up
feeling would come over me, and I’d bolt
to the lobby, find one of those ancient
nubby couches, smoke
going clear for the interior, down every
unlit passage until I was
normal again, fit for all those strangers
on the screen.