Last night I met a passive man
With almost no curve to his face,
And skin relentlessly white.
He made me tell his fortune
With a pack of cards.
"Jack of hearts--your love will be
A scullion overturning trays of food
And standing dubiously in their midst."
"Queen of diamonds--you will have a wife
Like a thistle dipped in frost,
Helpless in your sheathed hands."
"Deuce of clubs--a downcast jester
Will pester you with slanting malice
When you seek to play the king."
"Ace of hearts--your life will stand
Straight in a desperate majesty,
Its lurid robes ever slipping
And one wound endlessly dripping."
The passive man blew out a candle
On the table and bade me leave,
Not desiring me to see his face.