by Michael Tusa

Its So uncomfortable

being an Angel in a sack

no place for your wings

and your halo

always drooping down

as you try to light your cigarette . . . 


your tunic always getting dirtied up 

and always catching on loose nails

and splinters and always  being torn by all of the unkind foreign objects who could never truly appreciate something so soft.

so many times I watched you fly around the kitchen

beer in hand 

casting your chuckle onto each and every wall

and laughing at the words as we watched them spill out on the table 

The reflection of our lives loved living in your grin 

Did you give it all away? Or lose it somewhere on the journey between the stars and your bed? 

Something about reaching for the secret too soon seems appropriate

or something about how this is all just a big misunderstanding

and how the wheels roll around and around and around

and that the play is not over and this is just an interlude 

an intermission 

a pause 

and you are awaiting us behind the curtain 

ready to deliver the punch line to the ultimate  joke