Misplaced Genie


In a tent at the county fair, a man in a genie costume
sits across from me at a card table. He slides photographs

one by one under a crystal ball, magnifying
the faces of other people, describing their desires,

what he offered them, what he could offer me.
He looks at me straight on and mentions we passed

on a neighboring street yesterday. He honked and waved
but I didn’t notice. The plastic gem in his turban sparkles

as he leans over the crystal ball. I quickly excuse myself
to the bathroom, a public building of cinderblocks

painted white. I wash my hands and try to see my face
in a mirror that only reflects light. I stay longer than usual,

hiding out, testing his patience. When I return, he’s gone,
and in place of the crystal ball sits a rabbit, docile and gray,

twitching his whiskers. No sign of the genie
or his misplaced magic. The rabbit lifts a hind foot

and scratches behind an ear. He closes his eyes
and I don’t believe it means anything other than sleep.