After he spilled off his bicycle
broke his nose and cracked a few ribs
Paul fired his guardian angel.

She packed a set of towels and washcloths
as if his house was a hotel
where she paid cash.

Paul discovered mice moved in
to take her place
declaring his foundation the promised land.

The mice built bonfires
in the basement floor’s potholes
to roast a feral cat they trapped

with the help of two crows
and a barn owl
with no barns for seventy-five miles.

Paul’s guardian angel returned
the towels and washcloths
and a concert t-shirt she liked to sleep in.

When she melted into the sunlight
he surmised she was twelve-stepping
her way through fallen angels anonymous.

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