Lunch Hour With My Guardian Angel by ken2shoes While shopping for snacks at Hannaford with my guardian angel tagging along, I was approached by an anxious asian woman waving a jar of Ragu sauce in the air, as if to be asking, what is this, what is this for? Speaking slowly, enunciating my words, I announced, in my most helpful voice, that it goes on spaghetti and began to wonder if she knew what THAT was. Maybe I should go with her, I was thinking, aisle by aisle, reading the prices of chicken breasts, explaining the difference between cookies and dog biscuits. "Wait a minute," the angel interrupted, “This woman,” he said, “will think you’re too bold, and just be afraid and what do you know, anyway, about shopping for food, comparing prices? You’ll screw it up and it’s getting close to one o’clock. ” This was his typical message, but today I had questions about his credentials. Was there a shortage of angels on the day I was born when I was assigned this god-forsaken one? Or is he an imposter, working for the devil, having shot the real one, execution style, stolen the wings, and dumped the body in the Charles River? “I understand your concerns,” he interrupted again, taking my intentions by the hand, leading me to the checkout counter “but you do have a meeting at one o’clock.” Suddenly an old song slid by my scanner - “Please allow me to introduce myself…” And I don’t know who was thinking that thought, whether it was him, or me. Added to GotPoetry.com ( http://www.gotpoetry.com ) on 18-Oct-2011