Four Poems | Tim Kahl
The Little Angel
There was one little angel with a tricked-out wing that hung
on the tree. Every year it got stuck in the back and stared
at the wall. There are too many milkweed pod birds on this
damn thing, the angel cried, and birds weren’t even part of
the manger scene. The little angel doesn’t know that birds are
everywhere, but they get no coverage in the media.
She is only concerned once again no one will see the nice pleats
in her robe. She carries her Christian name through many more
Christmases, coveting attention. But God doesn’t want her in heaven —
too many complaints. And the devil’s afraid she’ll take over the place.
Screen Adaptation
The book is a mind surging through the world. A movie
is a glittering after-effect, but so much more cost
in producing it. Therefore, it seeks to please the crowd.
There will be no tales of exterminated Namas and Hereros,
of the forced enemas for diamond workers suspected of
hidden gems. These horrors and more always come
to me first in print. The word carries freight
the image cannot bear because there is no light.
A film is perfect for sexless creatures trapped inside
a morality play. The book thinks its way through the night.
Sentence Doctor
I offered to administer a semi-colon in case of emergency,
but no one was in need of my services. The skills of
a proofreader are a luxury. Any kind of sentence doctor
is equivalent to a blood-letter today. Prepare the leeches
for those who have been trained to immediately
respond. They prefer a shock to any kind of idle time.
But there’s an alarm going off in the middle of their
lives during the time they should be reading. Instead,
they are video messaging a friend about their recovery.
They’re all worn out, unable to punctuate their schedules with pause.
Prayer Worker
My cousin’s husband has died and the rabbi is playing
a singing bowl and chanting Kaddish. This is a family of
evangelicals, so this must be another silly dream,
which is confirmed when the rabbi, mistaking my
boredom for grief, comes over and hugs me
and tells me I have a friend in Jesus. I want to
tell him I don’t want any more friends; I have dogs instead.
Then I decide that would be unprofessional and drop my
station to that of a lowly blue collar prayer worker who
sends out calm words and healing vibes over the phone lines.
