Poetry

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The eight-armed temptress Jezebel,
Foul scorpion of our wishing well,
Scrawls graffiti straight from hell
To crunch us all beneath her spell.

I've tried her wine. It's really gross,
Enough to make you toss your toast.
She sells it via "call collect,"
And charges fees you don't suspect

Until the whiplash hits your neck,
Product of the cell phone wreck
That wraps the car around that pole,
To part you from your heavenly goal.

I used to feel bad for the hag:
The puckered lips, the cheeks that sag,
The hollow eyes, the hunchback spine,
The shriveled hands, the cracked beer stein,

Until I learned a thing or two
About her rancid witchcraft brew.
By sharing what I know of her
I hope some sucker to deter

From traveling along her path
And experiencing God's wrath.
I swore I wasn't seeing straight
First time she inched toward our gate

Disguised as Granny Twinkletoes,
A sack of rags and drooping hose.
With croaking coughs she tried to talk,
Stepped once, then crumpled on the walk.

I helped her just to be polite.
Don't want to make my folks uptight.
To not accept her invitation.
Would invite their indignation.

"Be kind to strangers" is their song.
"Can't we just all get along?"
That's how I fell into her lair,
Her tea and sympathy to share.

I smelled the poison on her breath
And feared that I would choke to death.
But though the spittle hit my face,
To wipe it off was not my place.

Upon my arm she gave a yank.
Everything about her stank.
"It looks like you could use a hug."
I dropped my eyes and gave a shrug.

"Don't spray me," was all I could think.
But perfect manners made me shrink
From proclaiming perfect truth,
Lest this troll think me uncouth.

"Here, wrap that blanket nice and snug
Around the wounds that time has dug
With callous words and insults grim.
Be honest. How are things with 'him?'"

I hesitated. Was it wise
To look into those hungry eyes
And feed her glimpses of my life,
Torn to shreds and cut by strife?

To let her know the secrets cheerless
That have made me less than fearless?
What should I say? What should I do?
What happened next I lived to rue.

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