Fumata and sausages

from this perspective
sitting in a plastic Adirondack chair
in my back yard
bbq sizzling
that cloud looks like smoke
coming from my neighbours chimney
as if the folks next door
just selected a new Pope

This is a nonsensical little free verse my brain spit out while chilling in the backyard waiting for sausages to grill, and staring casually at the passing clouds. I found it in my notebook, dated July 27, 2025, about a month after Pope Leo XIV began his papacy. Is this important? No. Is the poem important? No. Were the sausages good? Yes, quite.