Toxic Homemade Beverages
With a picture of Jesus
a copy of The New Women’s Survival Catalog from 1973
and an artificial leg (left behind by the previous tenant)
I open up shop as faith healer in my mother’s garage
I cannot cure the stank faced alley cat of her glare
but I keep humming all the same
shell come around
My hands are a jumbled guitar music
over the bones of sugar skulled mermaids
gasping for salt
I barter for my services
trade some divine intervention
for a gold sequined butterfly
so some bottle cap tap dancer
could snap slide and shuffle
all I did was whisper in his ear
and his spine took it as a bar fight dare.
All of my remedies include busted bottles
and apple skin.
and youll be sure to see out of both eyes again
better even than before.
I like shiny things that the tax man can’t come for
I cant owe you what I don’t have, Mister
but I can shake some holy over your store bought bones
trust this mother of pearl smile
these tambourine hands
Thats the almighty talkin.
get out of your chair.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 38 | Fall 2012