His voice sounded like buttered noodles.

I was minding my own business,
walking in the park,
when I was assaulted by
the overpowering odor
of Lilac Vegetal.

A shabby little man stepped out of the bushes
in front of me.
I thought he wanted my wallet.
But then he spread out a magnificent
pair of pure white wings.
And I knew he was an angel,
albeit a shabby one,
from heaven.

I was not frightened
or ashamed.
For I had lived a fairly decent life
up until that time.
So I greeted him with the secret sign.
Which is found in
Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy."

"I come bearing a gift" he said to me.
His voice sounded like buttered noodles.
"Because of your profound ties and friendship with decency"
the angel went on,
"I am authorized to offer you a discount ticket to heaven."

Then I noticed that some of his wing feathers
 were duct taped on.
He had a five O'clock shadow.
The odor of Lilac Vegetal
had turned to Old Spice.

"What's heaven like?" I asked him.
"Oh" he said, " you know; there's a lot of roadwork
right now. Dutch elm disease has
really taken a toll, too."
He shuffled his wings in embarrassment.
"Actually" he admitted, "a lot
of people are moving to the suburbs."

"So that's why you can offer me
a discount ticket . . . " I concluded.
"Things are a little off kilter right now"
he admitted.
"And if I just wait until I die?" I asked him.

"You won't get the free tote bag"
he said firmly.