The Magician and the Deck of Cards

The magician’s

deck of cards

was full of insecurities:

The Joker,

a constant wild animal

with an obscene mouth

which I kinda dug

but who refuses to take off his mask

and still wrings his hands

and squeals his sorrow cries

into the dark

when he is alone.

The Queen of spades,

a shade bitch

with eyes

that even pierce

the skies

and pours down

on her fellow

ghosts that walked

in bones,

groaning for approval.

The 4 of hearts

who crashed his car

into a bridge wall

with full force

for he thought

he was a caterpillar

turning into a butterfly.

And the Jack of clubs

who lies while

speaking soft

into your ear

and promises to leave the keys

under the doormat

but throws

a pack of cigarettes

on the porch instead.

I watched the game play out

from the hole in my dollhouse,

with its own share of hauntings,

and winked at the magician

who laughs with a knowing

that the cards

may switch characters

but the queen

is always left like the queen of Macbeth,

shaking blood

from her broken hands.