I Predict

The night was dark. Inside the tent
Her face was hidden by a shawl.
Her client sat, unmoved and bored,
While she gazed at her crystal ball.
“Ummm… I predict,” the gypsy said,
“A tall dark stranger coming soon—
An unexpected visitor
Arriving with today’s new moon.”

“I can’t believe,” her client said,
“You think I’d buy that load of crap!
A tall dark stranger? Why not say
Someday I’ll drop food in my lap?
I’m paying you for useful facts,
Not old recycled movie lines.
If you can’t give me more than this,
I’m outta here. Don’t waste my time!”

The gypsy rose. She stood so tall
Her cowering client gazed in fear.
Beneath her shawl, the darkness hid
Her face. He longed to disappear
As she intoned, “Don’t mock me, boy.
The future isn’t yours to see—
But if you wish, I’ll show you yours.
I promise it will be a scream!”

Her client fled as though pursued
By some sadistic maniac.
She watched, then whispered with a grin,
“Now I predict you won’t be back.”