Song for Fredo Corleone Poem by Martin Wiley
Somewhere, in a land where untold stories wrap themselves around impatient and waiting eyes, there is a movie where Michael’s heart breaks. Where his hired killer balks, and Death himself refuses to shoot. Where Fredo lives. Where he sits, rocking in an empty canoe, whispering Hail Marys to the rhythm of the murmuring waves gently bumping up against the side of his boat. The sun is shining, an hour before sunset, dinner has been started, and he can already smell the garlic out over the water. When he looks to the shore, his brother stands there, watching calmly, and with a smile.
Martin Wiley is a recovering poet and spoken word artist. While working on a novel and teaching English at Community College of Philadelphia, his five-year old daughter’s love for words has caused him to fall off the wagon, and step back into poetry. He lives with his wife and two children in South Philly.
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