A Prognostication for the Disillusioned

And, for the wind, I drew myself behind

my guide, because there was no other shelter

Madam Sosostris has ditched her bohemian gypsy garb
to put on a respectable grey pant suit.
She writes articles for Better Homes and Gargoyles
in this ultramodern age; she bakes cookies.

But she still plots the course of stars and planets
through their heavenly arcs and will,
          for a modest fee,
reveal the reason why so many little birds are falling from the sky.

“It’s as if reality’s become an Irwin Allen movie,”
she says as she stares at the cards spread out like a bow
on the green felt lined table in front of her,
“and we’re just about to enter the second act

“when mutant catfish monsters and
smug secret agents will come staggering up
from Floridian swamps, intoxicated with madmen plans
for world domination and outrageous medical experiments.

“A coprophagic cult of newsmen and pundits
will lie in wait, hidden and ready to attack
under the hemorrhaging light of a red eclipse.
Most of their victims will never be found.

“Strong winds from the north and west
will sweep down across the plains, wild and hoary
like a hound from the frozen circles of hell,
driving men to madness
and media induced mass hysteria.”

The seer shivers and folds the cards back into the deck.
(2011)