There is something there
in the downtown square,
an angel statue
with statuesque hair.

On my way to work
the nightshift,
I stop and stare
at the strange
stationary beauty,

whispering secrets
in her ear
that she’ll never share,
cause she doesn’t care.

She is as hard as metal
but the last beautiful girl
staring up at the stars,
while loud cars
blast by
destroying the peaceful night.

Like Pygmalion
I am in love
with a statue,
but unfortunately
for little old me
there is no
Aphrodite
to bring my beloved to life.