Magics

Bob Wilkee
excelled at that close up
table kind of magic —
that pick a card sort of thing —
great at parties,
when the chatter
was slack
and the rubes
were a bit off-plumb
and didn’t notice he ain’t
practiced much.

Now Roy Dennison,
on the other hand,
would pull a maggot
from your nose
if he got ya’ to lie —
a fait accompli kind of thing.
He always said doves were too big,
too flighty, rabbits nibble his pockets,
and Roy, well, just too damned
lazy to feed ’em proper.

Emma McFadden,
oh — now
she
had
the apparatus —
that steampunk clanking thing
with exposed gears,
whirling barber poles,
horns that puked blue smoke
and methane, chain,
sawblades and springs,
flywheels and pulleys —
all things hungry
to rip a body apart
and leave the choke crowd
yackin’ for more, howling
always howling.

Man, oh man.
What a show.

Image: Isis França on Unsplash

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