Angels

Some poems are all fantasy and some are all reality. This one is a bit of both. I will let you guess which bits are which.

Angels

She was wearing high heels
And fishnet stockings
When she rode her bicycle
Into my life.
I should have run,
I had the chance.
But I asked her
On a boat cruise instead
And she didn't say no.
I brought a hat
But could never manage
That rakish angle.
She brought a chainsaw
And married it to her bike.
There's not too much
We have in common
Except we are
Common enough.
We are both
Forgotten, abandoned
Broken and lyrical.
Perfect, not so much,
But perfect for each other.