Angels Sleeping on Shabbat
Los Angeles, California

 

 

 

 

Angels Sleeping on Shabbat


It never smells like roses in the broken field
Flowers abound in the homeless’ gutter
Broken flower stems thorny and stale
Leftovers from a table full of silvers spoons
My hyena, the mother of all the homeless,
is laughing uncontrollably behind painted walls
Gratitude never leaves her side
because it has learned to amass till there is no end
My homeless never cry
because they are not the devoid of empathy
My honey is color purple
dripping blood from withered beets
My clothing approximates to color earth
and its texture to rastafari dreadlocks
Our chief flies over our heads
and his chariot fumes mavet* dust over our dreams
But here I lie blessed to sleep
on a resting day full of bustle and speed
Cry me a ballad or sigh me a sonnet
but while your belly obeses in mire and laughter
my gut does shrink with ire despondency
My unknown ‘Alien’ says,
“Here take this.
I only have a quarter more than you.
Have a nice day.”

Jerry L. Lewis

*death