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...He remembered his childhood,
Cajun stories of the bayou,
and one of an old witch doctor,
they claimed he still practiced voodoo.

He had seen the man once or twice,
he’d seemed rather old decades back,
but when Alex called some old friends
they said they could show him his track.

He felt crazy when he went out
on an airboat, into the swamp,
a friend brought him to a hummock
where a cabin rose like a lump.

Alex went forwards by himself,
saw a dim glow from the window,
the man was there, even older,
eyes blinded, hair whiter than snow.

Somehow he knew Alex was there,
and stalked carefully to the door,
then said, “Ah yes, you’re Aaron’s boy,
please, come in, excuse the dirt floor.”

Alex walked inside cautiously,
taking the man in as he went,
the figure was skin stretched over bone,
his muscles long flaccid and spent.

He wore a snake around his neck,
which Alex realized was alive,
the man played to stereotypes,
but Alex still did go inside.

“I’ll make some coffee, den we talk,”
said the aged man with a grin,
“I hear over da radio
of de trouble dat de world’s in.”

“Yes, it has been rather stressful,”
said Alex as he took the cup,
“I feel crazy for being here,
but it’s not something I can give up.”

The old man smiled, “Yes, I’ve heard
you helped folk de last hurricane.
Good men like you are all dat keep
dis poor world form goin’ insane.

“But I talk to de spirit world,
for a man of science like you
to come to me means tings are bad,
at least from your own point-of-view.”

Alex just nodded silently,
said, “I’ve seen things I can’t explain,
but what I believe matters not,
there are people out there in pain.”

The old man nodded. “You don’t know
how true de words dat you speak are,
it’s not sickness dat stalks women,
it is vengeance, anger, and scars.

“Dere are tings de spirits tell me,
‘bout a man’s soul after it dies,
death is no little thing to those
who have only known sweetest life.

“Dey tell me dat it takes much time,
for dose dat God does not take high,
to understand just what death is,
what you are when you’re not alive.

“Dey tell me it takes fifty years
for da dead mind to recollect,
and from da way you lookin’ now
dat means something big, I expect.”

Alex nodded, his mind quaking,
fifty years now since Roe vs. Wade,
small ghosts on film, women dying,
he knew what the old man would say…

CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
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