DREAMS FROM A DINER

Outside curtained windows

Morning sun illuminates

In certain hope

The dreams of little girls.

Faded lace shatters virgin sunlight

Into hopeless splintered shards

Projected on a diner wall.

Did I ever dream?

I think I did.

I see dreams in the distance now,

Through a smoky saffron haze

Like the dirty yellow of once-white walls,

Knowing I shall never dream again.

What was I to be?

It seems so far away.

A nurse or, (remembering), an artist.

I surely didn't dream of waiting tables;

Of too-large hips, too-small tips,

Green Dacron uniforms, and feet that hurt;

Using this bright/bleak day to buy one more,

Each with the sameness of gray vinyl tiles

That march in dumb monotony

Across the tread-worn floor.

I dream now only of sleep and,

(dream of dreams) Not to dream.

Copyright 2002 Ken Ragan