I took up smoking 50 years ago.
A little pot in high school started me.
Progressing to tobacco, deep and slow
as if it were the same commodity,
I purchased Winstons through my college years,
and switched to Players when I chose my mate.
Bronchitis was the price, and now there rears
the possibility of grievous fate.

For though I pushed tobacco from my days,
I kept on hitting pot in substitute.
Ignoring every symptom, wheeze and haze,
I’m yet postponing abstinence. Pursuit
of habit’s comfort takes away my breath,
and soon I’ll choose between reform and death.

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