she
with her mop bucket
sleeps on a floor
of dirt
a cardboard fridge box
dented cans

a candle
from the church

she mops
keeping demons at bay
mumbles a prayer
she can't understand

and I can't understand any of this

is she strong
surviving so long
or weak
for letting it all come down to

just this

she is an old lady
so I side with the angels
assuming Those Storied Ones
stay ever close
watching over
her

not me
I am just watching
questioning

why don't they do a better job