a witch moves in next door.
you see her in a black
long cape, her tilted
pointed hat,
her gaggle of bats
swirling like dark
wind around her.
you watch out the window
as she drags in her
cauldron, her stack
of brooms,
her box of poison apples,
a large of book
on curses and potions.
she waggles a long thin
hand at the movers
as to where she wants
the hourglass.
but she's cute
in a strange New York City
kind of way.
you shouldn't be so
judgmental.
maybe later you can
bring her a plate
of home made
lasagna with a garden
salad.
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