At her table, here is Claire
with her rare, clairvoyant stare.
Fortuneteller, ready-made,
shares her gifts when cash is paid:
She’ll chart your astrology,
add up numerology,
cast the I Ching – tarot too –
read the bumps you’ve got on you,
mix a potion, fix a charm
(one causes love, one causes harm),
gaze into a crystal sphere,
make predictions for next year,
read your tea leaves, speak in tongues,
contact dearly-loved lost ones.
In a trance that bugs her eyes
she’ll see past lives, prophesize,
have a vision, eat a sword,
spell things on a Ouija board,
interpret lines upon your palm,
recite some scripture or a psalm,
see your aura, hypnotize,
levitate before your eyes,
leave her body, shake your soul,
run barefoot through hot beds of coal.
Claire, the psychic; Claire, the sphinx,
senses what each client thinks.
But there’s one thing Claire can’t share.
The final question: Who is Claire?