Sitting on my stool inside the beach house	
My ears are ringing, my hands are shaking
My expensive hearing aid nowhere to
Be found. 
The anxiety meter inside my head
Off the chart, into the red zone, the needle 
Bouncing violently toward despair
Where is it, on the bus, in the wind
On the ground, crushed into the asphalt?

I feel beyond stupid
How could I lose it 
Again?
I call my wife. She tells me to pray
So, I do. Head bowed; eyes closed 
Mumbling to God, I beg for help

Then time to go home. Workday done
Backpack on, fast walk to the bus stop
A quarter mile away. Five o clock, the sun
Still hot, I’m out of breath and there she sits
An older lady, shabbily dressed, 
A cigarette of some sort	 
Hanging from her lips until she takes it out
Motions for me to sit and offers a hello. Then

Do you have five dollars?
Meanwhile her hands rush into her purse
In search of something to trade, but I say
I don’t have five, but I think I can come up with three
My fingers crawl into my pockets to locate coin

Then she shows me a black plastic box
Containing an answered prayer

May I see it?
Of course. 
It belonged to my husband
The one who died, left me with nothing but this,
And my no-good lazy son

I interrupt. I open the box. Inspect the device
Put it in my left ear.  It is indeed mine

I count out the money, smiling
She smiles back, taking the money, then
Breaking the silence, she rambles on
About her husband and her no-good son

I put the box in my pack and thank her again
She rises abruptly, says she needs to leave
Walking up Union Street as fast as she can
I yell, ask her name. She turns around
The reply comes fast:
Angel. Everyone calls me Angel.

Seconds later, she turns around
Her back to me, one arm waving
Vanishing into the sunlight
She hollers a blessing
And says goodbye.