She came with Flowers in her Arms

 

She came with Flowers in her Arms 46,5 x 62 cm mixed media on paper

HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT

There are three interestingly feral  

angels sauntering up a suburban street,

flapping their Caravaggio pigeon wings,

clawing the air with dirty fingernails, and the

first one says, “Honey, get your big fat booty    

outta my face,” and the second one says, “Knock knock….”

and a nervous housewife, staring

out her kitchen window at the third angel

a hunk worthy of daytime TV she thinks

oh yum, calls the SWAT team anyway.

Three angels screaming BITCH! all the

way to the holding tank.

Basta, says the judge, you’re going down.

In a year, if they survive incarceration,

one of them will be selling mobile phones 

out the back of his vintage Toyota.

The other two, like you and me, saying nothing

or blathering incoherently, are barely managing

the daily shit storm. Are comparing tattoos in a motel room

for fun and profit. Nothing is against their religion anymore.

Even the people we think of as good, or at least ethical,

rare and tender, their innocence buckling

under the weight of soul-altering cocktails,

stare in wonder at what their words have wrought.