A Burning Cigarette / I have judged
The train grinds to a halt at the station. I look out the window, watching the people.
A woman steps to the door, smoking her cigarette.
As she boards, she flicks the still burning stub to the ground.
Immediately I am attentive, for this is an offense to me.
I watch as the stub burns still, lying upon the concrete.
If it was wood, there would be fire, but no, only smoke, curling into the air.
I glance at the woman, who quite handily fills my stereotypical catching eye.
She is one of those people, one who I would never choose to associate with.
I have judged her, for she is the cigarette.
I have judged her, for she has fallen into a judgment.
I have Judged / A burning Cigarette
