his clothes smell like Tuesday <br />on a Friday afternoon; <br />he bums a smoke, a light, <br /> <br />and looks away. <br />the lines in his face, jaw set, <br />like a map to where <br /> <br />he cant quite remember. <br />he watches the smoke <br />curl up like infidel prayers <br /> <br />lost on a street corner, <br />to the lights and the noise. <br />dont look too close! <br /> <br />you might find your self <br />staring back at you <br />from the day after tomorrow!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-day-after-tomorrow-5/
