Just One Left

By Ashley Ellen Evelyn Edmonson Goetz

It was full; earlier.

I remember.

When I came out again it was gone.

There was just one.

Laying on the pine carpet.

Lazily.

As if to say, “Come die today.”

I grabbed the One.

I slammed the door and locked it.

Then I smoked it up.

Half full.

And dismissed it.

To finish in Morning.

When the Sun sings.