I had my cards read
once awhile back
in a pizza place.
By the waitress who was so eager
to clean and close.
Still she was so serious.
She was sure to face South
"Table or booth?" Booth.
Tarot. Left to right. Her face was red.
She seemed to see some meaning
there as they slid across the slick table.
I saw only crumbs of garlic bread
on the face of the Hanging Man
Years ago on Bourbon St. I handed an ancient man
twenty bucks to read my palm.
"You are not from around here are ye?"
"No you don't have to be a psychic
to see my wide eyed amusement, do you?"
I had a seat in a rusted folding chair.
He probably didn't notice that my eyes
begged for fortune to smile on me.
"you will have four kids,"
technically I did. He caressed my
hand which made me more
than a little uncomfortable.
Suddenly, I had to stagger across the littered street
with an enormous sense of urgency.
Inside the bar, as I took another shot
I saw the man staring through the window at me.
In Savannah I tried to compose epic
literary poems in my head,
intoxicated on Absinthe,
perception askew and vomiting emerald green.
It was genius rhyme and meter
rhythmic grandiosity.
If anyone had heard these verses
they would have been awestruck
and praised me!
In my head turned more than one beautiful verse
about the human condition, and our inherent mortality.
It was gone the next morning
in the haze of a headache
and shaking hands.
I was left with nothing, but some vague memories.
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