Telling a Fortune
A poem by Edward Ahern
Come in, my dear, and sit in that chair.
What’s that? No, no crystal ball, no incense.
Just a table, and two chairs, and you and I.
Before you pay me, I must give you a choice.
Choose between two fortunes-neither of them lies.
One lets you look in a mirror,
What you will do, who you will bed,
The future as others are able to see you.
Most are content with that.
The other? Ah, that’s much more painful.
I will flay your image and look inside you
At what you become and what you fail to be.
Your essence as it purifies or taints.
Most are unhappy with these revelations,
But recognize their truth
Even though they rarely change.
So which will it be?
Inner or outer, the money is the same.
My actions will not vary.
But I will be looking at you
Either dressed up or naked.
The procedure? Absurdly simple.
Your elbow on the table, fingers straight out.
I set my hands on each side of yours.
And pass them up and down, just not touching.
Your hand feels pressure and warmth.
Both are phantoms but not unreal.
Your focus is through your hand
As I begin to know you.
I ask no questions, that would be fraud.
Only begin to tell you
Of what you will have done
Or what you will become.
What’s that? No, of course I understand.
Most people prefer to know
The course of their life rather than
The curses of their nature.
Shall we begin?
What’s that? No, no crystal ball, no incense.
Just a table, and two chairs, and you and I.
Before you pay me, I must give you a choice.
Choose between two fortunes-neither of them lies.
One lets you look in a mirror,
What you will do, who you will bed,
The future as others are able to see you.
Most are content with that.
The other? Ah, that’s much more painful.
I will flay your image and look inside you
At what you become and what you fail to be.
Your essence as it purifies or taints.
Most are unhappy with these revelations,
But recognize their truth
Even though they rarely change.
So which will it be?
Inner or outer, the money is the same.
My actions will not vary.
But I will be looking at you
Either dressed up or naked.
The procedure? Absurdly simple.
Your elbow on the table, fingers straight out.
I set my hands on each side of yours.
And pass them up and down, just not touching.
Your hand feels pressure and warmth.
Both are phantoms but not unreal.
Your focus is through your hand
As I begin to know you.
I ask no questions, that would be fraud.
Only begin to tell you
Of what you will have done
Or what you will become.
What’s that? No, of course I understand.
Most people prefer to know
The course of their life rather than
The curses of their nature.
Shall we begin?
|
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty-odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had a hundred ninety poems and stories published so far, and three books. He works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he sits on the review board and manages a posse of five review editors.
|
|
