Confessions of a Smoking-Cessation Drug-Eater

It might be the hardest thing
I’ve had to do in this life:
Quit smoking.

The drug dreamed for me
the Chupacabra and I loved the same woman,
loved her immoderately.

And she wouldn’t choose.

In an underground tunnel
bored by a defunct amusement park,
I danced a fateful dance-off with the Chupacabra.

Throughout its ungainly spinning,
I taunted the tiring cryptid:
Dance, Chupacabra, dance!

Whirling from the floor, the beast
flopped onto his sudden nuptial bed, into
the waiting embrace I craved,

the fence-sitter at last making her choice.

Can this be?
The woman I want
wants the goat-sucker.

I was then left alone to dream up
a way to live without love
in the abandoned Tunnel of Love.