on the reference of a

friend who used to be

close, s/he asks the cartomancer

to come to the house---

as this is not a privilege

often granted to those whose cards

are to be read (so the “reader”

claims), extra funds are required

to lure her in &

the sap in question feels that the

frustrations of his/her life have led

them to this place

of concentrated desperation &


are grounds enough to shell out

the moola, to roll out the red carpet

if necessary, in order to

provide the best atmosphere for the

“reader,” whose life has been

based on “interpreting the



offering the tea of her choice &

brewing it whilst they both sit down,

the woman’s stereotypical garb

woos the sap into thinking that this

woman has some kind of ancient

presence & the power of the

mythical washes over the sap

like a gentle breeze tickling the

back of her/his neck on a chilly

October afternoon.


after the tea is poured, the cards have

been chosen, the “reader”

does not break eye contact,

proceeding to tell the sap a tale

that could be weaved (and quite

probably has been) for anyone

who asks the reader to come to their

house, who seems so distraught &

alone, who evidently has come to

a major turning point in her life,

weighs upon every word that

the “reader” spits at them.


dewy eyed with brand new hope,

more horrible than the loneliness

that led them to this charlatan,

the sap sees her to the door,

constantly thanking her for the

things that s/he heard which s/he

liked, like a mouse sticking its

head into the trap right before it

sets it off, licking its lips &

thinking that it found the peanut

butter all on its own &

oh how lucky it is

to have this feast lie before it.


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