The Alchemist's Shop

I ventured one day to a building off Main,
With rats in the lobby and bugs in the drain,
A stench strong enough to make brave rhinos stop;
This place was known as the Alchemist’s Shop.

A cynical man who’d gone crazy with passion
For bright yellow gold he was trying to fashion
From metals and gases and potions and pills,
In boxes, on shelves, and on window sills.

Rich long ago but now deep in debt,
He swore that he’d pay those creditors yet,
Not with money or jewelry or his house or his lot,
But with gold that he’d made in his old blackened pot.

Green tarnished jewelry and die-casted brass,
Iron and copper and red neon gas,
Chemicals, pewter and greenish brown mold;
Mix them in portions and try to make gold.

Bat’s wings in bottles and rattlesnake’s rattles,
Blackened gunpowder from King Louis’ battles,
Elephant skins and the tusks of a boar;
These are ingredients in the Alchemist’s Store.

He’d made medicines for gout, consumption and pain,
Could cure the afflicted and criminally insane,
He even had potions for lovers, I’m told,
But never was he able to mix up the gold.

I gained his attention, looked for something to buy,
He said not a word as he looked in my eye;
I purchased some herb, which cost quite a lot
Of my coins, which he quickly threw in his pot.

I left him alone as he stirred up his kettle,
Trying to transmute gold out of metal,
Knowing that someday I’d return through that door,
To learn of more secrets from the Alchemist’s Store.

|| My Poetry ||