A bit-o-poetry

The room is full of angels
drinking, laughing,
smearing their eyeliner
down their cheeks.

Their broken wings have
them slumped on the floor.
Summer heat wisps through
the cotton drapes.

“Open the window!”
Someone shouts.
“It’s already open,”
an angel sings.

She walks toward it
and stretches her hand
to the moon.
“Why can’t I fly?”

Inspired by a photo