Fallen Angel

His halo has slipped
and now hangs
unceremoniously
around his neck.
His golden harp has
Been replaced by
An empty whiskey bottle
And a cigarette spitting smoke
From the glaring embers.
His wings are sodden and the
Feathers ruffled.
Heaven was just a dream he had
A very long time ago.
And as he sits in the gutter
Looking up at the dripping
Ceiling of the motor way bridge
He wonders
Where is your God now?