The Road Called

I was born with ash-filled lungs, and Mama kept some cigs in her panties. She made me a plain dress once— said it matched my face. I never could understand, why every whisper in town waft her name. She left me on the road to Auntie’s place— gave me candy cigs for supper. Never know when the road would call, she’d say. The road— Got a phone, Mama? I never would go to Auntie’s place, I found smoked tar sticks instead. I passed “Thanks for visiting…” a ways back— Could I find that phone now?