Angel

It takes longer each time just to reach every New Years',
And wiping my lipstick, I find my mouth pale,
And the Ghost: Christmas Past, she has long since expired
Her manner inedible, monologue stale,

But out in the street, there's an angel on duty
I see from my fourth storey window above,
The people rush by and they don't seem to see her,
And none hear her speeches of courage and love.

Once, in Antarctica, just there on business,
I saw her wing prints right there in the snow,
I said to myself: "storms are ready for naming",
And nothing can hold still wherever they blow.

Does each of her movements cause ripple effects
With helplessness in its wake?
Some days I ask her to show me her worst,
But most days I stay awake.

The scaffolding that we may cling to is this:
Staging an easy out,
Pretending that she's standing guard
Is what it's all about.

Is she even aware of the fact
That they sacrifice a few,
"Well, my dear, I told you so",
They say, as if on cue.

When nightfall comes, the angel has gone
On some elevated train
That's prematurely carried her
Away from harm again.