Hallway footsteps create a sad rhythm.
Neon lights break
over cracked linoleum. The elderly
carry groceries in a cold wind; their
facial wrinkles are road maps of
experience.
Young people speak of someplace else.
They gather under stars of tragedy,
dreaming in black and white;
visions unworthy of being in color.
Their lives grasp at the first two chances,
while hoping for a third.
Everyone knows you can see the world
from the second story window.
Roger Singer 