Flight of Fortune

Aisle seat in the third row–
a next door neighbor I do not know.
I put my seat belt on and then
look up to her all-knowing grin.
“May I tell your fortune?” is her request,
(It is not made at my behest.)

A pastime really not my choosing,
still, with nothing more amusing
to pass the time, I give consent
and this is how our time is spent
in those first minutes of our flight,
until the ground is out of sight.

My fortune told, I sit and think,
ordering another drink,
pleased by some of her predictions
but finding others contradictions
to how I’ve planned my life to be.
I worry fingers upon my knee.

Does she concoct or does she see
these things that she relates to me?
Some things she mentions have happened, still,
I hope that others never will.
Yet I fear, if I reject
the things she says, I might deflect
the good things so they’ll never be.
This is the choice that faces me.

Can the good that she foretold––
of feats accomplished and love and gold––
be accepted without the rest?
I want the warmly-feathered nest,
but do not desire everything
she tells me that my life will bring.
The illness, sadness, loss of friends?
I don’t like how my fortune ends.

I warmly press her proffered hand,
take off my seat belt and quickly stand.
Perhaps if I just change my seat
and find a seat mate more discreet,
I’ll change my life as easily––
and react less queasily
to conversation that is not rife
with details of my future life!

Strange. This prompt somehow came up and I thought it was a current one, so answered it, but when I tried to pingback, it turns out it is just a few days shy of a year old and comments are closed. I’m going to go ahead and post it since it took me about an hour to find and alter this poem written many years ago.. For the MMM Challenge