The angels came down to earth
in a rowdy, exultant flurry,
chattering in ten languages
and dripping gold from their
fingertips and half-parted mouths.
At first they were awe
inspiring, ethereal,
untouchable and
radiant.

But the longer they stayed,
the more they became pests.

They ate my peanut butter sandwiches
and spilled crumbs everywhere,
borrowed my clothes and did not give them back.
They claimed they didn’t know how to work
a dish washer, a clothes drier,
a vacuum cleaner.

They drank my wine and told long, exaggerated stories
boasting of the cities they sacked, the faces they wore,
and the beautiful men that they
wrestled with in the dark.

“We were the favored sons,”
they said dreamily, eyes unfocused,
fat cans of beer or diet coke
in their milky-white hands.
“We were adored and feared.
We were never hungry.”

They are always hungry, now,
so I tell them they can stay for the weekend
until they find jobs.
They claim they don’t need money
until I tell them I’m running out of mac ‘n cheese.

In their resumes, they list their qualifications.
Their strengths are, in no particular order:

Burning shit
Having three heads or three legs
Turning people into pillars of salt
Delivering ominous messages
Flying really fast.

I can’t think of any shit to be burned or
people to send ominous messages to, but I feel guilty,
so I send them outside
to rake the leaves in the yard.
I watch through the window as they
scoop up the leaves in their enormous wings
and drop them on each other’s heads,
laughing.

So I come outside, and I’m laughing as well,
and I let the angels enfold me in a feathery embrace.
They smell like freshly cut grass, clean paper,
rose water and Old Spice and my father’s aftershave.

“Why are you here?” I ask them.
“Why now?”

They hold me tighter, press their slippery faces
to the crook of my neck, between my shoulder blades,
forehead to forehead and shoulder to shoulder.

“We are always here,” they say,
toothy smiles flecked with gold.

“But why today?” I press.

The angels shrug their shoulders.
“We were lonely,” they say.
“Weren’t you?”