The fluorescents, half-dimmed, are my spotlights
The front counter is center stage
Where I lend my voice to all my fantasies
Much too robust for my age

And so I sing to the cigarettes
And dance through the aisles knowing
This is as close to the stars I'll get
Still my footwork leaves the tiles glowing

So when you hop off Interstate 580
And flood my modest arena,
Look for the meager kid with the hidden voice
For the sold-out concert I'll deal ya


© Jaz Rogers