My father knew the languages of men
And ducks and cats and dogs and would surely
Have spoken to an angel outright if he met one
Afterwards, my mother would have said
"Nat, what was the angel's name and why
Was he standing in the rain? Does he like
Being an angel? Does he like his boss?
Does he get lonely?"
My father would've answered
"Patroosh, we didn't talk about any of that."
"Tchah! He was waiting for you to ask;
Next time, I'll go with you."
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