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The Sleeper

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Hark, the urban angel pleads,
beside a stained springy mattress,
under a naked bulb dangling
from a battered ceiling.

She stretches her wings
from wall to dilapidated wall
wherein rats scurry and tap,
heard, but unseen.

She pleads for the empty mattress
in the room adjacent to hers,
that its sleeper might come out
of the tenebrous allies.

Urban God, how long
will the sleeper live like the rat,
scurrying and tapping in backstreets
unheard, and unseen?





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