I See Dark-Clad Angels Seated In The Clouds Poem by Mark Heathcote

I see dark-clad angels seated in the clouds
looking down on me and you,
as if we're little more than pigeon dung,
excrement on the pavements below,
little do they know, without jealousy?
I see them as vermin as vultures up there.
Plumage lofty, tails stuck high in the air.
Little do they know the plight of us down here?
Treading these pavements, the gutters overflow
I see them lording it, saying how they deserve it.
He's a pimp, a drug user, a pusher, and yet I-see-them
-swanky clad carrion flies with cocaine up their nose.
Looking down on these vagrants that haven't laundered
haven't cleaned themselves or their clothes.
I see them glass-elevator-fools laughing like
-jackass mules; shouting I've given to the poor.
But I point-blank refuse to give any more to even up the score.