Fortune Teller

Say you rolled out of bed once
In an otherwise boring
Existence to discover

You could correctly answer
Any question put to you
Re someone else’s future.

How long until you noticed?
How long until others did?
Would anyone get better

At asking you good questions
To advise their own success?
Would you become powerful?

Famous? Hunted? Hated? Rich?
Would you disrupt prediction
Industries? Be killed quickly?

Would you learn to temper art
With just enough wrong answers
To survive scrutiny but

Enough right for a living?
Would you be content with that,
A corner shop in a mall,

Slightly seedy, not too bad,
Where you had your clientele,
Enough income for the rent,

And afternoon sun that fell
In neat lines through the red blinds,
Where you waited to be asked?