by Hedoliz ©
There was an astringent old witch lying on her back
in the grass under the tall fall bushes,
clutching madly at the broomstick between her legs,
her hat having rolled a few feet away in her excitement.
Perhaps,
after a hundreds of years of pressing it to her flanks...
Perhaps suddenly in the warm sky over Kansas,
she and the broom had a moment of truth.
She was lying
on her back, under tall fall bushes,
clutching madly at her broomstick. . .
No one in the park noticed the black-clothed
bundle of unrequited passion
(except a small dog and a girl child named Dorothy
who was throwing pebbles at her),
lying in the grass under tall fall bushes.
Her hollow
eyes were shut tight,
and only tears were cumming.