Calm and clear-eyed,
She stood on the auction block.
Her name was Immortality.
The train of her dress,
Never seemed to end.
“Anyone give a soul?”
The auctioneer cried.
Wisdom had just gone
For a trifling sum.
A bidder with cloudy eyes
Held up two
Very greasy fingers.
“Two souls?”
The auctioneer’s face
Creased into a smile.
The greasy-fingered
Man mumbled,
“No, two hearts.”
“Fie, hearts! Fickle things.”
“Half-a-soul then.”
“Half-a-soul?”
The auctioneer
Was not smiling.
“I couldn’t buy
Even a pint
For half-a-soul.”
“I’ve already spent
My other half-soul
To the tavern
Down the street.”
The bidder’s companion
Gave a sneer.
“You’ve been taken,”
He crowed.
“Those taverns never
Take less than
A whole soul.”
The bidder gave
A lazy shrug
And stared
At the bottom
Of his empty cup.
“I’ll take nothing less
Than a whole soul.”
Around the auctioneer
Women stood in half-circles,
Like crescent moons
Men sat on whiskey barrels,
With more whiskey
In their hand.
Tears gathered in
Immortality’s
Very blue eyes.
Was there no one
Who was willing to
Pay an entire soul?
“Me, me, me!”
Said a high voice
The half circle
Orbited around
A small boy.
He raised one
Very greasy finger.
“I’ve gotta whole soul!
Ain’t spent it yet.”
It was the brother
Of the girl
Who had paid
A full soul
For Wisdom.
No full-grown
Man or woman
Was willing to pay.
The auctioneer
Was growing tired.
He had hoped
For a full-grown man
To give a full soul.
But even a child’s soul
Was better than nothing.
“Don’t do it boy,”
The greasy men urged.
“You’ve not even paid
For your first pint.”
“You’re a nice boy,”
The women said.
“Too nice to be
Cheated so young.”
The small boy
Gave a laugh.
“I don’t care if
I can’t afford a pint.
Long after
You’ve drunk the dregs,
I’ll have Immortality.”
