Cigar Poem by Nicholas Peter

I found one of your old cigars,
in the back of my bed.

It smelled like you,
and your memories wafted back to me,
like old ghosts.

You look like a god in my mind,
a holy ghost,
my eldest hero.

Your cologne travels back to my nose,
through an old wind,
and I miss you.

You and your Cuban mindsets,
to care for me,
and watch over your family.

Mighty man of the house,
white-haired and tan,
your glasses make you see us all better.

Your cigar is with me,
smokeless and chewed,
a testament to my memories,
of you.