Tonight's Poet Corner: Bargaining

Bargaining
by Belinda Roddie

Let's make a deal:
You take me to Bret Harte's
Poker Flat, and I'll make sure
you don't end up like Oakhurst,
with the teeth of his own Derringer
lodged in his sagging aorta. His
skin pulsed and cried for some
sort of panacea. The stuffing
filled the scar. The strings tied
themselves up into a hot air balloon.

If you push your luck,
you lose your luck.
If you're out of luck,
the night terrors suck.

If I fork over a handful of
fool's gold, you can slip it
under your tongue like a fake
token of gratitude to a god
with mangy hair and a misshapen
nose and a lisp from a cleft palate
that he was never able to get fixed.

The fates all settle their spines
over tea in the basement. They
discuss you and me, both equally.
They giggle. They know I'll call
your bluff. And in return, you'll
probe my mind with second thoughts
in the shape of a 9 millimeter smile.