Short-sighted
Short-sighted
The cigarette kids meet again today
in the bus stop booth, just down the street.
It's cold and the stale air
smells of a place where
advertisements slowly moulder away.
The suntanned cowboy smiles from the wall
framed in a place where adventures are free.
His call is unheard
as bottles are shared
over dreams of times to be.
Will I be a hero?
A doctor? An actress?
Will I be famous and rich someday?
I want to be pretty.
I want to have money
and never have children.
At least not today.
Rain starts to pour, the evening passes
with cheerful chatter and cigarette smoke.
They joke and a pen
scratches over the den.
When they leave, the cowboy wears glasses.