-Requiem for Russell Silvia-

1.

Russell Silvia was our friend, near two years our elder,
near full-blooded Portuguese, living among the nearly full-blooded

Italians in what amounted to a small city three block area.

Russell hung around the corner very well,

better than most and with a convincing attitude.

He knew how to lean back against the ballpark's chain-link fence

and at the same time lean his torso forward, street-side,

without the procedure looking in any way calculated or forced.
He was a natural.

His cigarette smoking technique was beyond reproach, igniting

the head between two, tightly cupped hands regardless of weather.

This is what he would teach us.

Russell’s first drag of smoke was impressive.

What he did was..he'd press the Camel cigarette to one side of his mouth,

drawing its torrid smoke deeply into his lungs while exhaling

the residue of smoke through his nostrils.

The process was unique in that it was done as the flame was still burning

the head of his Camel.

Now, it's true, that occasionally a trickle of smoke may have drifted from

the other side of his mouth, but this was deemed to be an acceptable byproduct 

of the complete procedure.

Lung cancer would claim Russell far earlier than death

of any kind would claim any of the others of us.

2.

We took a break from the viewing

walking outside to the Funeral Parlor's expansive back porch;
a cold night, a brushed-yellow Moon reflecting on the river under riven,
Albert Ryder skies–– and gathered there
we smoked 'em the way we wanted to smoke 'em without any

of the technical bullshit impressed upon us by Russell Silvia.

Quequechan