It’s a terrible entertainment.
In solemn gloom, breathless,
concealing our morbid curiosity,
we rest our fingers on the plastic sled
waiting for its impulse.

“What will our leaders do?”

It moves. Surprised, suspicious, our eyes
meet others, see more surprise, more suspicion.
Not me, eyes say. You? Them? It must be them.
With mysterious deliberation the sled slides
on felt feet where we all dreaded, all knew
it would go.


Not me!

“Who’s pushing this?” “I’m not.” “Not me.”
“Well, someone is.” “Spirits.” “Do you believe that?”
“No.” “Anybody?”


We all withdraw our hands, but there it sits:



About Greg Bryant

I teach writing and literature at Highland Community College in northeast Kansas.
This entry was posted in poems. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Ouija

  1. bryon says:

    Captain James T. Kirk: Well there it is, war. We didn’t want it, but we’ve got it.
    Mr. Spock: Curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want.
    – “Errand of Mercy,” Star Trek (The Original Series)

    And how that which we do not want continues long after we’ve made it clear we do not want it. Polls have clearly demonstrated since before the end of the last presidential administration (note how polite I’m being) that we the people (poor saps) are eager to end our battles in the Middle East. Despite that, they continue. The spirit controlling the sled must surely be financial; someone’s gotta be making money or the sled would move toward something else.

    A damn fine poem.

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