with the faded neon sign
just past the nursery
that sells sheet metal sculptures
of dinosaurs and giraffes.
I am, she says, the worst fortune teller,
ever.
She doesn’t wear a headscarf
big earrings. Hers is a
Yankees cap & cardigan.
Let me read you,
as she shuffles a deck of cards.
Wait, those aren’t Tarot cards.
Pick a card.
I draw a seven of diamonds.
I place it face down.
You’re not ready, she says,
& captures my eyes. Hazel eyes,
The rarest & least dependable.
I’m ready.
She gently sets a revolver on the table.
Smith & Wesson .38.
My heart swells in pride.
You’re not.
Comer back another time.
I smell coffee, not incense. Something fried.
Outside the traffic blasts me with hurry.
All this for twenty dollars.
About the author:
Travis Stephens is a tugboat captain who lives and works with his family in California. His book of poetry, “skeeter bit & still drunk” was published by Finishing Line Press. Visit him at: zolothstephenswriters.com
Part of our Summer 2025 Issue. New stories, poems, and essays now through August 31, 2025.
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