My Friend Dead Father Orange

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

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
a tavern by
the sea
where very
soon the
sun would
kiss the
like a lover.


4 thoughts on “My Friend Dead Father Orange

  1. A very strong poem, rife with incredible imagery, reminding me of a Neruda sonnet style; closing stanza is killer tight, liked the notion that autumn & ghostly memories can go hand in hand some nights; liked the line /the night was a moonstained dream/.

  2. there’s an uneasy feel… dunno if i would want to walk with someone i know will trick me…dead father orange… that name says much as well… hopefully there’s a happy end..

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