She fidgets with her beads again,

watching faces go by - a blur -

no one stopping to ask her

to tell them their future. Who wants

to know what tomorrow brings

when today there's candy apples

on a stick, merry-go-rounds, and 

a wannabe magician who lacks magic?

But she has the magic to know

and no customers to serve,

no crystal balls to shine or wands

to give as prizes if she can guess

their birthdays.  Too bad she does not

have that kind of clairvoyance

or creativity to draw them in,

but she does know their untimely

deaths like memories

rising to the surface of her judgment,

and she does not flaunt that gift

like the magician and his top hat.

She watches faces go by in a haze,

and waits for the curious to come.