Sweet Potato Haircut

My brother smokes cigarettes 

through the thin meshed windows of his

bedroom, where,

adjacently, I breathe in the musty dust

of melancholy boredom that 

seeps through his sorry summer.

I remember how

I used to admire cigarette bodies,

those wane and wiry ballet dancers breathing smoke for air

bellies taut and trim and never hungry,

full of satiating smoke,

while my soft and suppler body was

fueled by

peanut butter and jellies,

bags of baby carrots,

pita and hummus, falafel and

kombucha through a licorice straw,

scrambled eggs and cream cheese,

bagels, blueberry pancakes, tortilla chips, 

Greek yogurt, guacamole, broccoli,

and almond butter slathered banana all in a day’s work.