Florence Mango

Angel

I look up

and my eyes run soft.

I drip with liquid soap–

Am I sparkling?

Squeaky clean?

Am I just the way you thought I’d be?

 

Your face, affirmative,

but bent, maybe.

It hides behind a crooked tooth

that humbles you.

 

Oh,

you are humbled,

but I am subdued.

 

I look back down.