fried donkey hands

The man with his hands spread out
over altar with price tags on everything
sold you his soul by mistake
now he wants it back
but it's

jacked

somebody peeped it in your bag
as you passed them by in the
library stacks,
and they stone cold

stole.

That soul you bought.
Slipped their lithe stray index
finger down in, caught
it,
snagged by the hoop -
dragged it out

gone. Vwoop!

Then the man rushes up,
pained face and breathless with
your money.

Telling you sorry
there was a mistake, that soul

already belongs to someone else.
But you look in your bag

and it's gone.

You show him, your face

pained as well. He sees
from your eyes
that you're not pulling tricks
and all color drains
as realization sinks

it was done by elves
or who else, who knows.

There's really no
fixing some things. And this

is one of those.