A Cigarette

By J. Alfred Jacobson

I am only just a cigarette,
A tiny little thing,
And yet the pow’r I have o’er men,
Is mightier than a king.

I rule not with an iron hand.
I boast no kindly claim.
Yet thousands found in every land
Pay homage to my name.

I have no court around my throne,
No armies drilled to fight.
The secret of my pow’r be known,
‘Tis in man’s appetite.

When subject I would make of man,
I test his vertebrae,
And if he be too weak to stand,
Then I have won the day.

I bend his shoulders to a curve,
I hollow out his chest,
I play upon his every nerve,
I never let him rest.

I make a dim and bloodshot eye,
I stain his fingertips.
I make his lungs feel parched and dry,
I spoil his shapely lips.

I neutralize his natural will,
I blight his intellect,
And then I do him more things still,
I take his self-respect.

I leave a stench about his clothes,
A foul, distasteful smell,
I have him marked where’er he goes,
So everyone can tell.

I rob him of his richest dower,
Bring failure and regret.
Now can you see what mighty power–
A simple cigarette!

(1932)