Eric Cockrell - The Day After Tomorrow

his clothes smell like Tuesday
on a Friday afternoon;
he bums a smoke, a light,

and looks away.
the lines in his face, jaw set,
like a map to where

he cant quite remember.
he watches the smoke
curl up like infidel prayers

lost on a street corner,
to the lights and the noise.
dont look too close!

you might find your self
staring back at you
from the day after tomorrow!

Eric Cockrell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-day-after-tomorrow-5/