Cigarettes

Poetry

Luke Fiscella

The town of Mahopac has a legend for how it got its name:

Long, long ago, a Native American Chief was smoking

a pack of cigarettes by a lake. One of his tribesmen

approached him.

“Hello, Chief. What are you doing today?”

“Oh, hello. I’m just getting some smoking done.”

“What?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you say ‘getting some smoking done?’” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s not how you’re supposed to say that. That’s like saying

‘I’m getting some eating done’ or ‘I’m getting some bowling done,’ it just 

sounds weird.” 

“Why the hell do you care? 

“Just trying to make conversation, Chief. You don’t have to

be a douchebag about it.”

“I’m being a douchebag? You came right up to me and started ripping

on me. And what I said was technically grammatically correct.”

“Why do you always do this, Chief? You get so hostile 

whenever people have the slightest problem with you.”

“I really just want to keep smoking, Tony. Can you take a hike?”

“Whatever. Have fun with your smokes, Chief. Sorry

that I even bothered.”

The Tribesman took his leave. As the Chief went to

grab another cigarette, he dropped his pack in the water.

“Dang, I dropped Ma ho pac.”