Black eyebrows fall in the haircutting shop

Where a Lithuanian lady drapes a cape over me like a shower curtain

Wet scissors and warm waves of hair dryers

Humid sticky clumps on the tile floor

Everything hair-dusted like flour

Angels watch over me from a higher shelf

Pink and blue with china wings

I want to touch them and play with them

I guess nobody will ever know

What the angels sing to me

Watching over me as I wait for hours.

Far from the haircutting shop

I think of the angels in my own little life

I want to give them all a standing ovation

You never know

Who sleeps and wakes and walks beside your sadness

Till you look over your sunset shoulder and find them gone

They lay down before me till daytime has come

And they stay after closing

Watching over me

Watching by the wayside—

Oh, I love the angels

I love the older angels.