the old broom

she likes
the old broom.
the bent
and worn out
witches broom
that she
keeps on the front
porch.
hardly a straight
piece of straw
sticks out
at the bend.
where's the broom
I bought you
for Christmas, you
ask her, shaking
your head.
I'm saving it,
she says, for when
this broom
comes to an end.
then she hops aboard
and flies off
in search of
dirt to sweep.