THE AURA THIEF

by Jack Tricarico


Yes, he was still listening
With his slightly incredulous look
Not to appear too offensively
Disbelieving. He wanted to blame
The déjà vu sea, and the vomit inducing sun
For turning the sky into a drunk’s toilet
Also the gulls, flying in figure eights
Scapegoats were everywhere

As mother insisted
She had to repeat her prayers
A thousand Hail Marys
And Our Fathers
Kneeling on thumb tacks
While father looked on
Spray can in hand
The latest in disinfectants
For wiping out demons
More effective than garlic

As a pimply faced girl
She liked to go to a lake
For picking up condoms
That she resolutely believed
Were the auras of angels
She taped them on tin foil
And hid them around her room
Aside from the flies
And always the wrong spirits
Even a dumb teenager would know
You can’t hide a used condom
From a curious poodle

It didn’t matter at all if as he suspected
She was wildly exaggerating
Probably she was just sent to her room
Where she spent the night masturbating
Thinking about condoms
And the disgusting facts she was told
A happy ending always amounts
To a good laugh, even over
Somebody else’s misfortune
The sadder part of the story ends
Stuck in the past tense
What’s new about an Indian summer
Without Indians?
Only hordes of pedestrians
Surviving the bankruptcy clause
How, suddenly
Do they become frogs?