The lady sells tobacco

twist, plug, ready rubbed

light or heavy, aromatic

never smoked herself but knows the ropes

what customers want

which pleasant addiction

keeps their hopes         up

pipe cleaners papers stainless steel boxes

matches pipes cigarettes

pipes in a rack

the lady sells tabak.

 

Tobacco in jars with different fragrance

tampers filters keeps abreast

with orders to America Russia and France.

Cigars in small ranges,

how she keeps up with it all

only she knows,

she has a good face

a very fine nose.

 

The lady sells tobacco

no smoke must pass but that's the law

and just of late a white screen installed

no choice - to hide temptation

the government decrees

she's living with it by degrees.

 

She's lived through fashions

remembers the smells,

left Finlays behind in the station shells.

I know her name but it's never been mentioned,

polite and efficient she knows my face

we know that we're a dying race

and because i'm a poet I record the facts

before she passes in a cloud of smoke

and this shop becomes a house of wax.