the other hand

give me your hand,
the gypsy tells me
after she pulls my American
express card
through the machine on her
table. it sits next
to a crystal ball
and a boiling cauldron
of bat's wings.
relax. stretch out your arm.
just relax, my dear.
open your palm.
yes. she says. yes.
it's all very clear.
she takes a sip of her starbucks
latte. wiping her mouth
with a black cat
that was sitting on her lap.
I see it now.
that line is a line
of longevity,
but those other lines,
those deep
crevices that cross your life line,
those mean trouble.
what do you mean by trouble,
I ask her.
each small line is someone
you've loved
or will love
and they will cause you great
pain and grief
until the day
you die, which is a long
ways off.
oh. I say. shaking my
head.
what about the other hand?
any better?