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! GET A FREE 7 DAY TRIAL

SUBSCRIBE TODAY

You May Also Enjoy

The Hill Country

Take for instance Mary; she

shocked by some divine insistence.

Yet the experience of God,

Boardwalk Fortune Teller

Borne up by priestly hands beyond the dark

The clean oblation of the harvest moon

Who Taught You?

Butterfly, who taught you

Your exotic dance?

Who made your wings melodious?
What makes…