Poetry & Prose




He said he’d started singing

thirty years ago

when his baby died

She was born alive

but she never cried,

just sighed

and closed her eyes

So now he hopes

she’ll save him

a piece of sky.


But he worries about astrophysics:

He thinks he’d better hurry up

For if the universe is expanding,

heaven surrounding

must be getting smaller

and ever since the big bang

they’ve been running out of room,

The angels are cramped and tired.


A saint today tomorrow will be a sinner,

he said.

Your saints today tomorrow

will be sinners.


We leaned against the wall,

Watching the people shuffle by—

I gave him a dollar,

and I got on the train

Before the doors

slid shut

As he started another song.

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