Dust explodes from his sandaled      feet
as he doubles to catch the
.    tourists.
“Your hand, madam,” he pleads,      bowing.
“Give me your hand,” he reaches.
No, no money.”
Please, no money.”
He shows them his palm
stopping the man from
.    excavating in pockets.

“You,” he says
gently turning his outstretched
.    hand,
beckoning.
“I must tell your fortune.
Give me your hand.”
He lunges, grasping air.

She clasps both hands
behind her back.
She shakes her head.

“I must tell fortune,” he demands.

“No,” she says.

“You say, ‘No,’ madam?” he asks.
“You say, “No?'”

“I say, ‘No,'” she says
as fear tugs at her chin.
“No,” she says again.
“I really shouldn’t know.”

-Betsy Packard