Sinisteria IV

"Hey, you forgot your smokes,"
an elderly man said
pointing at a pack of Winstons
and a lighter,
to the kid who'd gotten
up from his seat
as if he'd forgotten them,
as if this older generation
wanted youth to catch up.
"They're not mine,"
he replied looking slightly
embarrassed at the thought
of smoking.
He left the bus
as the elderly man
changed his seats,
drawn in by habit,
by the lure,
another reminder
of his own youth.
He picked them up
and slid them in his pocket
like so many memories.