5.5 Minutes

Just dawning in the graying haze
Like the stench that lifted like a strand.
All bitter and acid burning,
From the cigarette held limply in her hand.

Statistics rolled and grumbled inside my head,
That for every light 5.5 minutes of life is gone.
I could see it burning and curling around in the smoke.
A luscious trap, and seductively strong.

She gave a quirky smile at my disapproval,
And the protest on my tongue.
And her answer which was meant to be a joke
Sounded ominous and wrong.

Words were short and to the point.
"Those things'll kill ya."
To which she replied
Calmly, "That's the point."