16 May 2026
You kerb-crawling mark:
I know your rubbernecking,
For a talented magician.
Can you pay the price,
To catch my act,
And come up on my stage?
Step up and look closely,
Maybe there's a rabbit in my hat,
Oh, the magic is on display,
But my white gloves can't hide,
These soiled hands.
They call me the magician,
Because I took the pledge,
To show you a good time.
And I promise to turn,
You into a trick to remember.
Let me show you the prestige,
Of your limp-wristed wand.
Are you afraid of magic?
Let this magician,
Feel up your sleeves,
Where you hide your sins.
With a little jiggery-pokery,
I'll make your scruples vanish.
I know you'll ask how,
I came to do my tricks.
True, it's the oldest profession,
But no one's born a magician.
So before you disappear,
You'd better look twice,
Nothing is as it appears.
And it's sad to say,
But you're not the only one, today,
To ask how the trick is done.
© 2023 John Osinga. All rights reserved. St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada.
Written 2023. Revised 2026.
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In magic, first comes The Pledge: the magician shows you something
relatively ordinary, like a dove. Second is The Turn: the magician
makes it disappear. Finally, there's The Prestige: the magician
makes it reappear — then comes the CLAP.
