My Camel

An exercise in obfuscation. This poem just came to me one day during a particularly long, mind- numbing day at the warehouse. I mean, most days there fit that description, but for some reason this one seemed much worse. I was quite a heavy smoker back in those days — I've since quit — and this work, is quite simply an ode to my particular brand — Camels. There are many hints scattered throughout the poem, and most people realize what it's about after the second reading. If you were one of the people that didn't get it, don't feel too bad, I probably didn't write it cleverly enough. I remember sitting in the back room of the warehouse, lamenting my lot in life, which was a daily ritual for me. The only solace I had at that horrific place was the ability to smoke. This was before the state-wide repeal of smoker's rights, and because I was on a loading dock with two rather large doors open all day, I was allowed to partake of my tobacco sticks without too much hassle. I suppose that on this day, I had just opened a new pack, and was gazing longingly at the tightly packed beauties inside when the first line of the poem just popped into my head. I thought it sounded so interesting that I had to finish the rest of the thought right then and there. I took a pen and scribbled down the first draft of this poem right there on a shipping manifest. You must answer the muse when he calls.

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