Angel's breath

I felt the angel's warm breath

on the back of my neck

but it was just

the laundromat's exhaust.

I spun around hoping

for a guardian and found

a hopeful street walker instead.

There's not much salvation

to be had for fifty bucks,

cooking up a spoonful

or renting a body and a bed.

She said, do you have a date?

and let go of the nubby knee length coat

that she clutched at her throat.

Underneath, her dress

barely reached her thighs.

I already have one, I lied.

trying to hide my naivete and pride.

If I'd listened to my body

and not the fires in my head,

I would have received a lesson

about the fusion of two warm bodies

instead of Teller's cold vision

of fission products and isotopes,

countdowns, kilotons, trajectories,

and the price of primo Afghan dope.

I said, I'm just waiting for my bus.

She just smiled and replied,

Sure honey, but if it don't work out,

I'll be right here to take you inside.

But the ride I was on took longer,

and the breath that I felt

was no angel's but mine.