Meathead Monologue

concrete colored angel

it is looming over me, making my shoulders
sag, hunch, and bend in ways they
should not. but they do and it is still there;
my concrete colored angel.
i pray to it in hopes of it showing me
enlightenment and why i am so
sad sometimes-in hopes of it showing me a
sign that there is continuance after suffering.
or at least a purpose to it. but
it is quiet most times, and it does not want
to talk to me. all it does is sit on my shoulders,
ask me to take it everywhere because,
just like me,
it wants to see the world. and
when i am in a generous mood, i show it everything
the world has shown me, including
you.
other times we sit alone together, and it sleeps
next to me, sometimes on top of me.
when i try to stir its heart, it stays asleep
and it is i who must go the whole day
with a sleeping concrete colored angel on
my breaking back.
and it is me, for some odd reason,
who doesn't mind the weight i feel, for it is only more proof that i am a weight on this world,
making footprints deeper than the previous year.
only more proof that the suffering has a purpose and maybe afterwards, the concrete colored angel and i can have a nice conversation.

r.k.