Angel

Jane or Jill might be her name, but who should care what her name is?
She's 30 years past her prime, and boy does she stink like a garbage bin.

Ona Anonymous, in the Post Office of Five Points.
writes letters on disemboweled envelopes to who knows whom or why.
Pre-stamped, she writes them back to front in unsteady penmanship.

I work the Downtown beat, magnet for the terminally misplaced.
Regarding human writing, I am illiterate yet nothing escapes my hearing,
for I am Mr. Everywhere; in jails, in psycho wards, in ambulances.
In places brightly lit and of clean sheets --- I'm also there.

Quick I am to lend assistance, even to administer reverse mouth to mouth resuscitation.
Not for fun, I kiss to the tongue vented lips that gasp for air like fish out of water.
Not French style do I smooch like so. Oh no, I'm too pure and proud for that.
Nor am I a robber of cradles. Nor am I a plunder of wheel chairs.
I do the job that's expected because someone has to do the dirty work

I'm the guy, the heavenly guy, the Angel of "Let's Make Haste."
We don't have forever, you know.