A Street Angel

A Street Angel

She loved cement and city streets and pavement,
ebony and blue and warm with footprints
she liked to see all those people in a flock,
like pine saplings or sheep, moving in some direction.
She did not care about directions.
She lifted a map from her panties and read
between the lines, those sidewalk cracks
she stomped on like a sacrament,
her heart dangling in a bird cage in the alley
for safekeeping.
She entered her room with strangers,
and it opened like a classroom door,
where she taught dullards, danced with businessmen,
swayed through the ceiling each evening.
And some things she enjoyed and some she endured,
and most meant nothing but a cut off notice in her hand,
that she had a duty toward.
She loved sidewalks and detours and the sounds of traffic.
She spent each morning at the Pablo's Pizza,
watching a Mexican lover make pizza, that was more
flat bread than anything else, but still, she liked his ability
to believe in himself, and she enjoyed the outrage
on the faces of his customers, and the only reply
he rehearsed in english, thank you, thank you.
Because she liked outrage and she never said thank you.
Because the traffic outside moved endlessly onward
and she was always warm with recognition,
when the door swung open, and a bell rang,
that somewhere in heaven, someone had wings.
She always wished she could fly.

Reviews

[Doctor JKC]

A true portrait piece, a painting.

"like pine saplings or sheep, moving in some direction."
Great poetic word smithing.
The part about Pablo was so touching.

I have found street folk have their routines
that bring them joy.

Excellent!
And I agree with fully with Mr. Kortas.

Hugs,
Dr. Jack

[deeps]

Mmmm! PIzza that sounds so good.
I like this write, It's wonderful.

[Ed Hart]

every time you cast your line in you hook a big one...i think your cheating, crib notes or somethin'...

[Tears Forgotten]

the allusions and the strong meanings and references are pulled together in this truely unquie piece.. great work...

[W.k.kortas]

I love the inclusion of the rural images in the fourth line; that's a very nice touch. The images are wonderful and inventive. The piece has more a tinge of sadness and wistuflness about it, but it's not of the sappy, tearjerker variety--it's almost matter-of-fact, and the piece is too well-built (and the author much too talented) to fall into any Hallmark-card hack traps. Fine and affecting piece of work.