Fortune Teller
¶ 1
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Blue & white striped shirts
hang neatly off pegs
with seahorse badge & numbers
obscured in the folds of material,
shorts & socks folded smartly
on the wooden benches
of the silent changing rooms
heavy with pregnant expectation.
¶ 2
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All those childhood memories
of the white dome at Spanish City,
metallic laughter & space invaders
the schoolyard chaos of a penny arcade,
of slot machines, dodgems & wheels,
the clatter of coins from a tuppence shuffler.
Ice cream cone from Arrighi’s
melting fast in the oppressive heat,
the sticky sweet white lines
running down the back of an arm
& dripping off the elbow
red with sun burn.
¶ 3
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& all those nights
with wild women under a blue neon star
thronging busy chatter in a packed pub,
the low thump of the bass through a toilet door
then picking up kebabs from the Tasty Turks
before waking on some strange settee
& looking out of a large bay window
scanning the horizon beyond St. Mary’s lighthouse
for Viking longships
or irate husbands.
¶ 4
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The fortune teller wore a red paisley shawl.
Crossed her palms with silver
& she foresaw the Twin Towers of Wembley
in the mists of her crystal ball.
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