The Wicked Witch of the West

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.