Volume > Issue > Boardwalk Fortune Teller

Boardwalk Fortune Teller

A POEM

By F.P. Grady | May 1985

Borne up by priestly hands beyond the dark

The clean oblation of the harvest moon

Draws no heart to it. Here the brute is stark,

Full-rationed on the rich, barbaric tune

Of jangling carousels, cheap bawdy shows,

Horrors in waxwork, snuffling furtive lust

Along the darkened sands. Yet still he knows

Enduring hunger, and a stronger thrust:

 

This child, this frightened huddler by the fire,

This prattler in the sun, this fool who mars

The beauty he may never under­stand,

Stirred by an old, implacable desire,

Traces a destiny in the lonely stars.

And fortune on the parchment of his hand.

Enjoyed reading this?

READ MORE! REGISTER TODAY

SUBSCRIBE

You May Also Enjoy

Blood, Water, Wine - Sacrament - Paradox Regained

Blood, Water, Wine

The midwife washed the blood and
wa­ter from the…

Beatitude in Blue

Enveil God’s face, winged seraphim

Before the dazzling throne:

The onyx clouds cannot hide Him

The Prodigal Father and His Child

“Well, Father, my share of the farm has

been turned into gold.

I take it…