One afternoon in mid-September, 1920
God pulled from His coat pocket
A handful of change, two matchbooks
And a small clockwork angel which He asked
If my Grandfather Joe could repair. "Of course,"
Said Joe, who could fix anything with gears.
"Come back in two days." Joe made the repair --
One of the cogs had a slightly bent tooth.
Time went by and God didn't return.
Joe occasionally put in the ghost of a dab of oil
And checked that the angel was still working;
It always was. It had rotors instead of wings.
After a few minutes it always returned to its drawer.
Azrael, a much larger angel, came by one day
Sent, Joe assumed, to pick up his clockwork kin
But he was there, it turned out, on other business entirely.
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