Early Retirement by Matthew DeLuca

The angel slouched against the low garden wall,

his flaming sword at enough of a distance

to not (again) singe his white and gold robes.

He hadn’t had much excuse to use the sword

in recent years. He found it useful

to warm his hands on cold nights.

He recalled the honor of receiving this post.

The wall was relaxing into a pile (he saw

playful rabbits scamper through widening gaps)

and the boughs of the fruit trees reached out

unabashedly past the supposed boundaries.

Cheery mice looted the dropped, overripe fruit.

A rustle in the leaves, and he gathered himself.

A winking sparrow. No one else, not even tourists,

who might discover how much was unforbidden.