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wings

– I’m in love with an angel – he said. – But you know: angels have no gender. No sex. – He halted, hinting no doubt at me.
I took a sip form my glass. What could I say?
– What are the angels like? – I asked.
He shrugged.
– Crimson? Yep, I guess so. Huge, their flapping wings sharp as razor blades. Haughty. But she is not like that – he added hastily.
Of course, of course not.
– I’ve slept with her in one bed... to no avail! – he complained.
I didn’t pity him. I notched my first flight years ago.
– Time to go, honey! – Her sappy voice hit like an arrow inbetween us.
Obediently, he got up.
In the doorway he turned and glanced at me.
I glanced at her.
Poor thing: unable to shed even one, single feather.
 

translation by Teresa Tyszowiecka