This is offered for Tweetspeak Poetry’s March theme: angels.
 

ANGEL, FOURTH CLASS

On the hottest day in July two angels

came home with us. Two homeless angels,

sister angels, abandoned on some guy’s ranch.
 

Terrier angels,

with a splash of dachshund and a spit of Jack Russell.

Demanding angels.

“Your puppies are so needy,” the house-sitter said.
 

No, I was the needy one, the one who prayed

like George in the bar: “Father in heaven, I’m not

a praying man, but if you’re up there

and you can hear me, show me the way.”
 

George got Clarence. I got Polo and Clover.

Someone up there dispatched a couple of mismatched angels

nowhere near AS2. More likely, Angel Fourth Class.

Clover’s probably Sixth Class.
 

What kind of an angel eats all your broccoli?

The kind that knows the only way to save you

is to jump right into your swirling river and bark like mad

until you jump in, too.