This was a given title poem which I used to portray a child’s perspective of how a mother may react when she suspects that the next door neighbor is sleeping with her husband.
The Witch Next Door
her hair is not tangled,
her nails are not mangled
her breath does not stink
from toads she should eat
her teeth are not crooked
her skin is not rotten
she does not cackle
nor taunt me with rattles
she does not ply us with candy or
curse us with brandy in a glass
she’s a nice lady, named Ms. Nog.
there is no pot, just a kettle,
Ms. Nog makes tea, cucumber sandwiches, and
has nice word for everyone she knows.
she has one annoying bird, two furry cats,
and a dog that licks my fingers with love.
Why is it that whenever I come home
my mother asks me,
“How is the witch next door?”