The Perfect Match

It is a grey, cold, windy, and rainy day
and I just got off a ten hour shift.
My lungs are itching for a cigarette
but my lighter is out and I have one last match.

I step outside and am greeted by the wind
I wait a minute until it dies down and my back is to it.
I take the match in my hand feeling immense pressure
to get this right or spend two dollars at a gas station.

I strike the match against the box and hear the flame
raise it to my mouth to light my unlit cigarette
when the wind started blowing very hard
before I could get it lit.

The flame danced at the match head
and I lowered it to try to protect the fragile wood.
The flame was pushed all the way back and was decreasing
when a drop of rain landed right beneath the flame.

I ducked down on one knee with my hand cupped around
the match and moved my cigarette close to the fire.
It lit half of the end before it was smothered by the wet stick
but just enough for me to puff the rest of it lit.

I stood up and threw the match into the street
and was satisfied by the first long breath in hours.
I smiled in the back of my mind but not on my face
as I looked down at the perfect match that got the job done.

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The Perfect Match

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