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The angels…

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A poem

by Magenta Kate Edwards

 

Magenta Kate Edwards
Today at 1:07pm
The first night she had ever
Found use for her feet
Wings lay discarded
Behind Market Street

Five pounds on the door
At a back street jazz bar
Drank red wine on a stool
Breathed in musical tar

A grey face named Ray
Came, whispered to her ear
“How you doing love,
Do you fancy some gear?”

And he led her to a room
With a midnight city view.

Her thoughts were played in riddles
And she didn’t have a clue.

Seeking sex or jazz or love?
She bickered with the echoes of her soul.

Pimping angels from Venus and mars
Flashing neon light read, ‘heavenly massage’

She sang sweet blues
To the strangeways screws
Spoke of suicide
A concrete void

Wept at the romance of the streets.

Sympathetic smile at a gaunt waitress
Knocked down by a late night bus
Number 20
On route to reality

Sent a shiver through Manchester
As the factories dream
Surrounded by ashes
And jazz.

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