A Fiction

“It takes one to know one,” she said,and I had knowingly taken several of them,so when it came time to talk to the cops,I took the initiative to tell themwhere to find Franco (God rest him).And now it occurs to methat we were guests in Franco’s streets,once the sun went down, our citybecame Franco’s house,so slick and shiny with sin.With a narcotic swipeof a midnight hand down inthe crowded park, Franco sharedhis jive with us; our greedy redeyes wide with wild wonder.But Franco was selfish too,and when our little economygot tanked, he disappeared.The night lost its shine;fear slid into our situation.But how unafraid we wereto look like fools. We quiveredwith every question, the brightflashing lights mocked us; theyhighlighted our fading highness.I don’t think myself a fink,but when an action’s time has come,I’ll take it; sorry Franco for everything;now it’s hello sleepless nights. Hellorest of my life. Good night Franco.Shafer Hall is author of the collection Never Cry Woof from No Tell Press. He’s a senior poetry editor for Painted Bride Quarterly and a poetry curator and host at the Frequency Reading Series in Manhattan. His solo poems have appeared in Octopus, Lit, Unpleasant Event Schedule, and others. He's online at shaferhall.blogspot.com.Join the Open Letters facebook page!Return to the Main Page