Crystal Ball
She polishes her crystal ball with Windolene
until it gleams. A client has asked her
about someone – is he earthside or airside?
She guides her hands over the cobalt-blue surface.
Her long fingers laden with black nail varnish
explore like traffic grids on an inner-city map.
Scrying spirit-land she finds authenticity –
there on the banks of the River Lark
in Bury St Edmunds, the diamond pattern
of one of his Argyle socks emerges. She stares
as he sips a pint of Old Speckled Hen
and sprinkles malt vinegar on his cod and chips.
Mary Franklin has had poems published in various journals, anthologies and ezines in UK, Canada, Australia and the USA.