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.

Now featured in my new self published collect: Growing Up Really F***s Up Fairy tales on Amazon

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?"