"Wrong Bottle Lucky" by Rochelle Leya Watts

Far off in the night
Through the rushing whispers of traffic
Saying sweet things to an autumn wind
There called a train, a howl of a horn
And clacking heart of tracked travel

He lay in a puddle
That chilled his ear around the edges
And ran damp fingers in his hair
Then the world spun as he sat up

His hand
Like some lost animal
Searching for an owner who once held
Its leash but fell far behind
His hand felt around for that bottle
He thought in some fuzzy way
He had earlier this afternoon
Before the dark behind his own eyes
closed him into sleep

Finally, with the smooth relief of glass
He found it
And brought it out in front of him
To concentrate on
With slow and careful fingers
He trapped the cap and twisted

It gave a little pop
A sound of bottled surprise
And with a whisper that rose to a mighty breath
Orange smoke blew out
Of his bottle
He dropped it in bewilderment

The smoke tasted like incense from forbidden rooms
Known only to holy men
And a scowl peered out at him
The voice from the cloud
Rumbled above the far off cars and breeze
“You have three wishes. “