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