are you driving?

you ask her about
the monkeys, the flying monkeys
sitting about her
cold castle, they are
wearing what looks
like doorman clothes,
gold braided jackets,
little hats,
gloves
curled pointed boots.
they are picking fleas off one
another's wings.
she dismisses your inquiry
by saying,
oh them.
they work for me.
it takes a while for her
to get ready.
the green pallor of her long
face needing
attention. she irons her
black cape.
uses a lint roller to get the
monkey hair off.
her nails, dagger sharp,
have to be painted red.
she has to boil
something in a cauldron
before we go and asks you to stir
with a long black spoon
while
she goes to the bathroom
to powder her nose.
read this curse out loud,
she says while you stir,
handing you a laminated card
with four lines of rhyming words.
when she comes out
of the bathroom
she asks if you're driving
or should we take
her broom,
to which you say, i'll
drive.