In pubs my hands can feel unoccupied
They grab and tear at beer mats
Or spilt beer on the table becomes
An artist’s canvas for my restless fingers.
I also used to know a great conjuring trick
When by just touching a cigarette
While standing at a bus stop
I could make a bus magically appear.
Lastly I am no longer equipped to offer
A much-needed light to strangers
Though if asked I often find
I still tap my pockets expectantly.
When I read tweets, blogs etc and they happen to mention how the author has recently quit smoking I can sometimes nostalgically reminisce on my smoking years and the odd things you miss when you quit a habit.