The Curse

Perhaps the old woman it was
Sitting on a sidewalk hand outstretched
Who raised one brow to entreat you
To pay her fair; but back you wrenched
Your eyes to the gate ahead
So she could not take back the curse
She threw on every man passing by.

You could have jingled away some change to her
Centavos from the street stand
Dollars just paper. Why not toss some to her?
Then a blessing would have followed you
Not the fly buzzing by your ear, singing, what?
A deep song of doom which does not swat away?
No. You hum it to yourself marching along.

Doesn’t it waft through just out of hearing
At the party’s door? The hostess pitching in
A cruel burden with her tinkling voice
Guiding you to a quiet corner
To watch the women come and go
Sometimes dancing a hi-de-ho
As dark magic spreads across you.

It follows you home in the form of a cat
And cleans itself on your porch
Sure to greet you with crying needs
When the morning finds its way around
So you grind your evening down
In its own ashes then sweep the nightstand
To send all change jangling to the floor.

April 2004