Thrift

Second hand smoke is a lot like second hand clothing
A shirt that may have fit someone once
Is taken by a grateful new wearer
But though the shirt may cover its new body,
It is still looked down upon by those who behold it
People can tell when something's been used
They see the minor rips and loose strings
Overlooked by the wearer
Wearing something leftover is not respectable to them
Even though it offers almost the same things as in the beginning

A smoke is puffed into the air of a house
The chemicals enter the smoker's body
As the remainder billows out in rings and haze
The air becomes a thrift store of smoke, slightly used
And like the clothes, the smoke still serves its purpose,
Filling the victim child with its once new puff
Wrapping its toxic chemicals all around,
Offering the same kind of danger as given the user,
Though it's slightly weaker and obtained without the effort
How generous of the benefactor to give his smoke away so freely
To the next unsuspecting, trusting receptor

Like the observant people, the receptor's body is also observant
Because it's been slightly used, the smoke does not have the same effect
As the new smoke with its fresh coating of death
The difference between the used shirt and the used smoke
Is that the receptor's body of the second-hand smoke has no prejudices-
Unlike the beholders of the shirt
New or old, smoke has a lasting effect that stealthily enters,
Slowly killing, never dying

The victim who was unaware of the dangers in his own home
Must wonder why the smoker didn't think to consider his health,
Why when people smell the smoke on him, they pity him
How he longs to be in the smoke free homers of others
Who have his respect
And who he considers wise
To not be caught in the useless game of hide and seek with the smoke,
That he knows he will always lose