The Great Godeaux
 
The Great Godeaux
stood six six 
in his loin cloth
and bare feet
The last in a line 
of Haitian witch-doctors 
who had perfected
the art of shapeshifting--
he stood before us,
the Great Godeaux,
his skin glistening
with cocoa-butter.      
As he stroked his   
pyramid pendant
& entered the trance,
he looked thru us
spellbound in the bleachers
behind the junior high,
empty-headed, open-mouthed,
as he unlatched the box.
The black box-only
three foot square
barely bigger than
a baby's coffin
but he stepped into it,
easing his greased body 
down like a cobra's--
the legs, trunk, head
until only a hand
remained exposed
configured in some     
mystical gesture.
Then the hand closed 
like a night flower,
slid beneath the lid
of that horrible black box.
No one spoke or thought
or even dared to giggle;
but we issued 
a collective gasp
when the lid, 
of its accord,
flipped open
and a white dove
appeared out of
the empty box,
flapping hysterically
until airborne
then slowly circling
in the darkness
above our heads,
The Great Godeaux.
  

 

 

 

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