Blind Angels

Of all the friends one could have,
I end up with the blind.

O, the senseless landscape they describe.
Everything about them so tragic, so unbuckled.

One could take them to the graveyard
And tell them it’s a playground.

I tend to trip on things unless I hang
On their sleeves.

The long conversations we have
Where not a word is formally spoken.

I’m not even sure they exist! Imagine that.
With friends like these, who needs friends?

I am old; I walk with an old man’s cane.
The blind angels leading me home: what a sight.