Guardian Angel

by Joshua Gage

          First, she would have to be unscrubbed,
          and not descending, but simply strutting
          up to me at the hottest hour of the morning,
          her wings oily with grime and smelling
          of cigarette smoke. There would be no glow,
          no radiant halo of light ushering forth, but maybe
          a pirouette of freckles exposing the skin where the sun
          laid hands upon her. It would be too easy
          to say she swigs a beer or stomps the pavement
          in tattered boots. But there is none of that.
          Just her lips incense close to my ear, whispering
          a divine secret in tongues. With that, and twenty-five cents
          I can get a Styrofoam cup of highway rest stop coffee
          and even then, the coffee would probably be cold.

© 2022 Joshua Gage  All rights reserved.

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