He used to shit in his own hand
and read it like tea leaves.
Many in the neighbourhood went to him
because they said he was gifted.
That he could divine the future.
I think he was Haitian but you can never tell.
And they paid him in tall cans of beer,
most unorthodox,
but I guess it is always better to cut out
the middle man when
you can.
He wore a woman’s nylon stocking on his head
and a collection of shark teeth
around the neck
that rattled wildly when he
was conducting
business.
Many people went to him but I never did.
I already knew the future
because it was the same as the present
and the past: crappy.
And I didn’t need a man who shit on himself
in ladies’ stockings
to tell me that I’d be shit on
by others.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. His work can be found both in print and online. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.
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