Angels are fighting, distressed and alarmed
we are falling apart – a life now in shambles
Angels are fighting – inside.
We searched in the alley for a warm place to sleep,
still no pillows to lay on, or crisp clean sheets –
bank account closed – no one knows where we live.
Angels are fighting inside of my head.
A kind lady she gave me a freshly picked apple –
and a sweater she had hanging over her back –
“My husband’s, he fought with angels too.”
I told the kind lady, “My body can’t breathe – so
different here where I once belonged –
no house, no job, no family or friend.”
People stare as I sit on cold concrete –
as they carry their coffee – in a fancy cup –
“Make mine small – just plain,” I laugh.
I stare through windows at those inside,
while chewing on muffins or texting a friend –
a stranger passed, I mumble, “I’m not
giving up, it wasn’t me – I returned to a mess.”
No jobs in the paper; a counter girl at the
food mart said, “You gotta get a computer – instead.”
The angels are fighting and no one complains.
What happened to you, our home, and our kids?
We gave to our country – they took all we owned,
shattered our lives while we thought we were brave.
The angels are laughing, and flying away.
From lamp post to corkscrew us vets stare at the moon –
count stars in the evening and pennies at noon.
Some kick stones – when metal
hits the bottom of a can –
beggars we are – as we count our coins.
Some of us stare – we have nothing to do –
Some of us cry – we lost all of our pride.
We were the fighters – those who were brave
not knowing that home would be hell, and
those angels have fled.
The angels were fighting to keep us sane.
then we stepped off the plane and our lives
were torn like the bodies we left.