Just A Guy With Wings Poem by Stephen Brian Brady

old-town at the cafe-bar
he plays guitar and sings

maybe he's an Angel
or just a guy with wings

it's how the way his words
hesitate in flight

settle on his feather-tips
then drift into the night

when they see a rainbow
of colours in his eyes

is it an illusion
an electrical device

behind the bar they've seen it all
no-one seems to care

but in unobtrusive setting
eglise across the square

there's a roll of plastic netting
and scuff-marks on the wall

and a few collecting feathers
convinced they broke his fall