Poem 26. My angel’s gone to vegas

I'm pretty sure my angel's gone to Vegas,

and she took West Jet.

Vegas, baby, Vegas.

She's going to try her luck at black jack,

Because everyone knows that slots have the worst odds.

She's an angel, so she can't really loses,

unless she wants too.

But she's way off duty,

not comforting anyone around her for a change.

Sitting at the table like she means it,

like she's got to focus or she might lose.

She's between a man and a woman who don't know each other,

but my angel will make sure by the end of the night

they do.

They're going to lose a lot of money,

and it can't be all bad,

or can it?

At any rate, that's what angels do.

She can't help working.

They're plying my angel with free drinks,

Good blue and foggy cocktails,

She's getting kind of tipsy,

and not so worried about if she wins or loses.

Which is why it's so good to have an angel

 who whispers in your ear.