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.




copyright 2001 Phoebe Claire Publishing, LLC  All rights reserved