The Tobacco Lover 

A gentleman in a suit descends in the elevator from the eighth floor
and walks to the base of a maple tree, lighting a cigarette.
From the twelfth floor, another gentleman in a suit walks down the corridor,
takes the elevator down the stairs, and heads to the shade of the maple tree,
lighting another cigarette.
 
Several people gather, lighting their cigarettes,
but no words are exchanged among them.
Conversations reside within the smoke of their cigarettes.
 
It's been seventeen years since
a comedian did a no-smoking public service announcement and left.
 
Through the respiratory track and lung rotations,
the smoke, exhaled from mouths and nostrils, disperse,
but the scent clings to the tongue, gums, and roof of the mouth.
 
Carcinogens are sprayed into blood vessels, brain cells, and nerve cells,
and the smell permeates ties, fingers, and hair.
The carcinogens refill the elevator and ascend
from the first floor to the second, then to the twelfth.
 
Ignoring the sensitive noses of customers has become a habit.
I believe in the saying, "You grow to love what you know."

How can one understand the heart of someone who doesn't know the taste of tobacco,
as they leave the office, ride the elevator, and head to the shade of the maple tree to light up a cigarette?
The relationship between tobacco, its lovers, and the maple tree is expected to continue for a while longer.