“A Generation of Bad Habits” by Megan Ocelnik

the smell of the tobacco burning from your swisher

reminding me of the cigarette smoke clinging to my grandpas old van

his shirts, his hugs.

violently I'm transported to my elementary parking lot,

taking infrequent breaths to slow down

second hand intake poisoning me the way it had him.

I see the old Disney movies playing three hour trips up north

princesses I can't relate saved from evil men

men that share too many characteristics reminiscent of my father

dancing on the semi static chunky tv lodged to the roof of that same van.

with every spit you take

i imagine the mucus leaving slug trails down my grandpa's throat

clogging his lungs with tar so dark not even god's light could save them.

I remember the hours spent watching him sit

in that worn blue chair mimicking the look of his blue jeans

jeans faded from years of work to feed four children

of bending down to the cooler to grab a fresh lemonade for my siblings

when our grandma wasn't looking & the daily limit was reached.

of fixing dune buggies and appliances.

of bending and bending over and over again

till the seams tore.

until he tore.

now your coughs remind me of his last breaths

before his soul tenderly kissed his body goodbye

transcending another stratosphere we have yet to comprehend.

I envision pieces of you leaving in the vape exhaust,

polluting air around you with your existence.

smoke curling towards clouds

as you silently slip away from my world, from this world.

I'm terrified of you leaving.

correction: i'm terrified of being alone.

I'm terrified of having no control.

I'm terrified of where you’d go.

terrified of what it does to me.

Is that selfish?

the click of the lighter striking flint is a sign to hold my breath

but a signal for you to breathe.

the glow of the flame lights up your eyes,

they’re burning can't you see?

but the embers of the cigarette butt offer the fruit of eden

and I am not a temptress.

I see the way you long for another pack.

I saw the way he did.

maybe it's not the foreshadowment of the disease that i'm afraid of.

maybe it's the need to be wanted.

to have someone addicted to me.

Megan Ocelnik is a current Stamps student pursuing a career in documentary photography. She has a special fondness for cats, and owns a grey tortoiseshell named Luna who loves contributing a hair shedding or two to Megan’s art.