Oh, and what do angels do on such occasions? A Poem by Gabriella Garofalo

Oh, and what do angels do on such occasions?
I’d better not know, thank you very much –
A writer told her ‘trust always pays back’,
A doctor told her ‘better an evil mother
than no mother at all’,
A hotshot told her ‘light always smites eclipses’ –
Boy oh boy, don’t they talk
A bunch of crap sometimes? –
Well, dreams come first and she saw
The prophet being shown
An almond branch –
Yes, God, yes, nice job,
Only it was doomed to wilt, right?
You ask me why, you ask me when?
I dunno, maybe at the midnight hour,
And no, I won’t be there,
She can make it without me,
she knows her stuff, doesn’t she,
That sower of lost harvests –
Do they call lovers ‘friends’ nowadays?
Well, light did –
Whenever I lay deep sixed, of course.

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Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Blue branches”.

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