Martin Duguay

The Delinquent

Grandpa sets his pipe down in the ashtray and looks out the window. The sweet aroma of the tobacco is too much for me to resist. I snatch the pipe and am about to put it in my mouth when Mom puts a damper on my adventure. Grandpa laughs and hands the pipe back to me. No sooner have I taken a good toke than I’m overwhelmed with nausea, and my eardrums feel like they’re about to burst. Grandpa savours the moment.

gray skies . . .
the smoke
of burning leaves