Concrete Dreams

At night, when I lay down my head, I lay on concrete.
I lay on the strips of white crosswalk, the curbs
of the city. My mind is filled with the magnificance
of towers, small spats of green. Pictures flash
under my closed lids, splatters of blurred
car lights. Ears fill with the sirens of a police
car rushing by, the honks of horns.

In the waking daylight, these dreams exist
as I step off the concrete curb onto the street,
heels clicking on the pavement below.
I look up and I am a dwarf to the skyscrapers.
Hand flies up, flagging a cab and slipping inside.
It may not be all glorious, but it is my life.

I dreamed bigger than just the rolling cascading hills,
the stretches of tobacco fields. I dreamed as high
as the skyscrapers above. I dreamed and I will succeed
my concrete dreams.