Quitting smoke

of late
my words
are ugly and violent
from when I went from two packs a day
to cold cold turkey,

my brain went on strike,
and out went all thought
and any venturing
past the picket line's been
harshly blackballed
by sharply rising adrenaline.

Parts of myself that
still cling to serenity
have been muscled out
by the last cramps of sweet addiction.

How can the calmest water resist the slightest pebble?
It cannot.
But how can the rowdiest ripple defy tranquility?

My wife,
who calls me her dainty princess,
said that if I smoked just one a day,
that I would make
a very fine gangster.