TRICK OR TREAT

In the market a street dealer
           plays a game.
Offers me a gleaming alabaster scarab
           loosely wrapped in brown paper.
When I turn to get my money,
           he switches it for another, cheaper one.

I don't want to be angry.
His dirty feet are bare,
           ankles scabby, cotton gallabaya torn.

But I feel an adrenal rush I can't control.

"It's not the same scarab," I say
           and snatch my money from his hand.

He reaches in his pocket and draws out the good one.

"No. I don't want it now," I say.

"You are rich American," he shrugs,
           by way of an excuse.

"I don't mind the bargaining," I say,
          "but there's no excuse for cheating anyone."

On the way back to the boat,
          I drop the bill into a beggar's cup.

Table of Contents

SYZYGY

A Poetry Chapbook
by
Honora Finkelstein

© 1997

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