Amberleaf Angels

Amberleaf Angels

After TS Eliot

‘I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men’

They lean, quietly puffing,

on walls and fences

sporting pac-a-macs and flat caps.

I've seen the smoke that rises,

skims along the street on the light breeze.

It chokes and burns the throat

of the young girl at the bus stop

but the opaque clouds

of dirty lemon

hang and glide through the air

slow, free

and congregate outside the church

in an Amberleaf- Drum protest march

all the way down to the circle.

The girl splutters as it passes

and the haze disperses,
and a wisp of angels

rises into the ether.