Roger Singer

I see visions of tomorrow.

Clubs with open doors, red seats

and low smoky lights; melting drinks

and bowls of peanuts.

Freight trains rumble by with freeloaders

hanging on as winds rustle their shirts

and jackets and hair without hats.

Fast talking and slow moving salesmen

hawk everything, especially what they don’t

own.  Kids hopscotch in front of a candy store.

Greased hair and leather jacketed boys chew

gum and spit.

There’s geometry in the partial structures

of half curtains and open windows.

It’s all waiting into tomorrow unless I sleep

in or run away.