Angel

A 38 bus to one of these,
To Michael, Gabriel, Uriel,
Or Raphael,
One hopes it’s not to Azrael
The angel of death.

A lively place
This urban space
Crowded with
Activity,
The living and the
Fading ghosts
Of a number of
Dead generations

Once you are dead it is as if you never were.
To feel bad about having offended someone who
Is now dead, would be like being upset by the
Feelings of a stone, or an equation.
Everything is cancelled.
The dead are nothing
And it is as if they never were.

Let the dead bury their dead
I am
Here with my
Obnoxious
Contemporaries
Fellow citizens,
Men and women
Who fail to measure up
With rare exceptions
Like
The lady in the sea
That hot October day
Less than a week away.

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