Angels of my father's imagining
Were stick men with mitten hands.
They didn’t dress up for their work
But put on coats sometimes -- this world
Seems cold to them. They wore earphones
When they sat in attics recording
The thoughts of those living below
On huge reel to reel recorders
Or, when they took breaks, listening
To old radio shows. When Orson Welles
Intoned "Who knows what evil lurks
In the hearts of men?" they'd shrug
And answer “Who doesn’t?”
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