My Friend Dead Father Orange

9 Sep

I yawned and

he dropped back

and sat down

on a stone bench

next to a statue of

an angel.

The night was

a moonstained

dream echoing

the coming of fall

in its breeze with

the leaves talking

back and

forth.

Dead Father Orange

turned a bank note

over in his hand,

as if to hand it to me,

but then folded it

in half. He placed

it in the angel’s

stone grasp.

You always fool me, I said.

I know, he said.

The moon above us

was savage like a

jungle cat, and nigh

as unforgiving.

Celestial ghosts

haunted us as we

began to walk

leaving the cold

courtyard of the

church behind.

We walked on,

silent after that,

into the night

and the haze

of glowing

neon off in

the distance.

Our simple

destination

a tavern by

the sea

where very

soon the

sun would

kiss the

water

like a lover.

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2 Responses to “My Friend Dead Father Orange”

  1. Sensoria September 14, 2010 at 3:28 pm #

    Cool!

    • mattspotentialpoetry September 14, 2010 at 4:14 pm #

      Thanks, just a little something I came up with the other evening walking home from a good friend’s house during my sojourn to Bethlehem, PA!

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