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Alfred and a church

The first time I met Alfred was in New York, where he appeared
on stage playing the sweetest of music.
I was alone and frightened, lost in an odd world of colors
Alfred, my father, followed me back to the ship, a night
that had a yellow haze and light rain.
For many years I didn’t see Alfred, busy as I was growing
and yes, so many beautiful girls, so much to take in.
It was in later years, when broke and abandoned, that he appeared
playing sweet music, listened to my story, nodding his head
helping me up.
The church was warm; in front of me, on the floor, a money note
enough for dinner and a bottle of wine, but Alfred was here too
I had to find a moral ground for my theft.
I ate the food, drank the wine, the change, I gave to the collection box.
The last time I saw Alfred, he came to say goodbye.
from now on, I had
to learn to manage my life without him.
I cried loudly in my sleep; a nurse woke me and asked what was wrong.
Alfred’s face was disappearing, erased by yellow mist and light rain.

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