Angels

Angels

Twas two fifteen, when I awoke
I’m getting old, & that’s no joke

& there they were about the bins
With open hearts, & mighty grins

They just appeared, from there to here
They’re on the earth, & somewhat rare

& sorting through the cans of trash
With laughs & smiles & jokes of hash

I feel like Abraham of old
Who woke with angels in his fold

They’re elbow deep, & just don’t slack
They’re working through the bags so black

They’re very sure, & just don’t panic
They’re making piles of what’s organic

I ask them from what realm they come
& what’s their message for our slum

This one’s from Canada, by the tree –
& she’s from US, once so free

& there’s the Kiwi, sorting in
The chasm of a rubbish bin

We saw a problem, one replied
We sorted it; it’s just our style

 Then off they go, in their Nissan red
& I’m left sifting, what they said

To see a problem’s just the start
To sort it takes – the way of heart!

Dedicated to the three young people who drove up
& sorted the pile of rubbish at the Reilly Street carpark, 7/3/17

Kevin Moran

 Poet Activist
www.alchemicalpsalms.com