waiting around outside the edge
of New Orleans, he lights a cigarette
and counts his blessings. it doesn’t take
long. he’s down to his last few cards
and no real cash to speak of. some
folk owe him money, but he owes more
folk more money. bad weather blowing
in from the east. he blows a plume
of stokkebye. the house was only
supposed to be haunted, John thought.
something in the
walls pulled taut
across the house, waiting
for a fly to get caught.