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Angel Roast

As I skated down the sidewalk,
I passed First Baptist
and noticed they were
having an angel roast.

Rotating slowly on the spit,
the angelís halo blurred and rippled
in the heat of the steaming fumes.
By the apple in its mouth,
I guessed it must be
one of the fallen.

"No way to know for sure,"
said the man squirting juices.

The man at the carving table
asked if Iíd like
a leg or thigh.
"Donít you have any wings or breasts?"
I asked.
"Sure," he said, "but you struck me
as more of a dark-meat kind of guy."

and he was right,
so he speared a slice of thigh for me
and served it up
with some bread and wine.

"Bless you, son"
said the preacher,
as I dropped two quarters
in the charity cup.

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(C) 7/12/95 Tom Brinck


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