Cloak Of Invisibility Arrives: Populace Doesn't Notice Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

they will fold your tears into the smallest cloud
on the horizon. I mean the cherabim
in the old paintings; oh that there

could be such kindness you let yourself
think at lunchtime let out for
a moment's reprieve.

and oh, there is a breeze.
mild sunshine.

oh that you would not wander blind
missing the thing you were born for
your angels try to say

and you almost hear them.

then you'll go back to work where
on good afternoons you'll be seen
as invisible.

or else, a thing to command.

invisible.
wasn't that what you wanted when you were little?
just think! now you get paid for it.

mary angela douglas 22 november 2015; rev.29 february 2016