Tuesday, September 8, 2015


Before they were interns for the Imp of the Perverse
The three angels were not friends; (the Courts of Heaven
Are so vast that an angel set to count its inhabitants
Will never finish even though she has an abacus
Whose beads are as the sands of all the Earths.)
Nor had God willed that chance should unite them.
Still, thrown on their own they proved compatible
And roomed together, commuting each morning
From a boarding house in 1907 to an office
In early 2016. Blaufre had a dueling scar;
She did not like to be asked about it so Glaur
Made up stories about its origin claiming it came
From Blaufre’s time as a musketeer. “Her wings
Gave her away and she was dismissed, but not before
A drunken brawl in which she defeated four soldiers
And an enormous trained rat which spoke bad French.”
Zafriel would smile politely as Glaur’s stories soared
And swooped and got distracted by shiny objects
Waiting for the pause in which he could ask
“Has either of you noticed the Imp of the Perverse
Sometimes resembles God? It unsettles me.”

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