AND THE CORNER ANGELS SANG

And the corner angels sang,

something about Descartes

And decisions.

A swift one at the bookies

Or the same at Ronnie’s Bar,

Upon whose step they sat

Eulogising about word shapes

and if it was possible

To impart the mind of God – in a syllable or two.

 

And the rain had abated but the road was lustred

oil rainbows and petrol blooms

and the corner angels sang about liberty

and the cost of trust

Her hair braided and

The other – eyes heavenward

Mascara and lips all a-pout

And the change gathered like the wages of sin

Little tin at her feet

Like a dutiful dog.

 

Obedient and lost.

 

Oh little town of desperation

How sweet we see thee lie

And the corner angels sang

took smiles

And backward glances

soul eaters

Foot tapping to the mantra

Of something other than now

Hark them – their voices

Spitting in the discord

Of another ceaseless day.

 

Is this it?

 

That’s the question

and the corner angels know it

Sing of it and ask any God – every God

And all the fractured idols

fallen saints and

Reborn lovers

extinguished lives

And rekindled wives

social mores

And lazy afternoons by the TV

old newspapers from back when

And freestyle runners

soap box preachers

And politicians

Decision makers

And lifelong forsakers

Bar upon bar

 

Why would anyone choose silence?

Related posts:

Tags: poem, robert heath