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.