It's Nice to Meet You Pt. 2 by Eric Sparks

On the first night we met we smoked;
which was a first for me and I grinned even though
I knew you lived in the Marijuana Valley
and chose teaheads like me for friends.

But don’t think that I didn’t see
the smallest smiles in your eyes
even though they were awfully low,
and even though,
I could hardly see my hand,
through the clouds that filled the tent.

It was a funny smile; cute because it
only fluttered across your face when
I mumbled poorly, but beautiful,
because you meant it every time.

I smiled back because smiles like that
aren’t born of smoke and coughing. It’s
the grin of a child that saw the Angels win;
a beginning unconcerned with sin or origins.

I’m just saying: I don’t see that smile
in every stoner; even if I was less of a loner
I wouldn’t find the same belonging that I found
that day in our smoky tent.