Mike Angel

Mike Angel loaded his Ford Econoline
With paint thinner and paint
Heading for his daily job
Painting ceilings in apartment complexes
His painter’s whites
No longer white but with dabs of paint
Of all colors
Even though
All the ceilings he painted were white
He longed to paint the sky
He longed to paint clouds on the ceilings
He longed to paint landscapes and people
He longed to paint Angels
His supervisor would come by
Once a day
“When will you be done?” He would say,
“When I am finished,” Mike would reply,
“Just once, could I please paint the sky?”
“Of course not Mike, that’s against the rules,”
Mike bought white paint every day
When he did he always bought a color
To go with it,
He would open the tube of color
A red or a tint or yellow
Put a dab on his finger
Then wipe it on his painter’s whites
Where he saw the sky, clouds,
Landscapes, people and Angels.