Futures Being Spent Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Sitting across the way from a cigar lounge, two gentlemen
sitting outside of it, one in a suit, much younger than
the other who's wearing jeans and a tee shirt.

Both talking, puffing on their cigars, sipping coffee and
gesturing with their hands, trying to get their points a-
cross to one another.

All I can think of while watching them is what they're
doing to their lungs and bodies, thinking their futures
will be spent in hospitals, going to doctors and getting
breathing treatments.