I never cared for skinny angels by John Dooroh

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I never cared for skinny angels

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It’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort.

I do, I really do. But a malnourished angel

you’re not doing me any favors. they need

to be angelic, well fed with the placenta

of sin They need to shine a little in the sun,

forget to shave your legs, drop the spaghetti

In their dresses, they make a mess in Outback

eat ribs on beale street and burp a little

so that the waiters know that they enjoyed

food.

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My angel gets sideways on a city bus

in Geneva to tell us which stop to take to see

your favorite church, it disappears when we turn

to thank her We see her later that day eating

chocolate and raspberry cake in an outdoor cafe,

wiping his mouth and chin with a white linen

napkin.

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She recites abdication prayers, fills

of regret for the slip, for the imperfection, but

it is unnecessary I cry with her

in the backyard with a million fireflies

who put an electric carpet under our feet.

She grabs the cigarette from my mouth

inhale, hold it like a phantom breath, exhale

its smoke in my field of vision.

I remind you that there is strawberry cheese-

cake in the back of the fridge.

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Juan

john dorroh He was born with a pen in his hand. She wrote her first poem on the bathroom wall with her mother’s red lipstick. He majored in novel writing at the age of 12 with an adventure book called “Buck’s Way.” His poetry has appeared in some 125 magazines, including Selcouth Station, Os Pressan, Feral, Burningword, and the North Dakota Quarterly. He also dabbles in short fiction and the occasional tirade. His first chapter book was published in the spring of 2022.

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