She sits outside a shitty bar frequented by undergraduates 
and adult women who wish they are undergraduates 
objectively, everyone smoking at this table is hot
my turn ons include smoke from blue boxes and freckles
I make a mental note about Freud. 

He sits outside a shitty bar frequented by black jeaned degenerates of all ages
keeping an eye out for curly haired little girls
for whom cigarettes are still a bad example and a bad omen
what really changes in forty years
besides maybe a brand and a bedroom?

Joni Mitchell sweet blue fingers to her lips
traipsing around the world stroking custom made dulcimers
writing the things that lived inside all of us adolescent girls
she sits beside me in my bedroom 
and talks about truly all I want.

Everyone I give a shit about smokes American Spirits.