(This poem reprises the Witch of Waxahachie, first seen HERE.)
Late summer lady wearing a necklace of ice,
Don't rock across the cat's tail--
Don't steal down beneath the railroad bridge
And wake the Witch of Waxahachie.
Well now, stupid girl,
You've gone and done it.
She is 116 years old
And wakes up meaner
Than the dog you stole the bacon from.
Snarl and shatter--
One year older.
One year madder.
The Witch of Waxahachie
Married five men
(one at a time...she is decorous, if dangerous),
And they are no more to her now than
Five drops in a bucket.
She kissed one woman
And never knew such sweetness
In the afternoon,
Nor such a bitter emptiness
As she felt that evening looking down the Grange Hall Road--
The very one her darlin's feet set on fire when she left.
Breeze, ridiculous thoughtless Breeze,
With your sun-deep skin and your
Dead white smile,
Now you have woken her.
Now you have reminded her.
There is just the one way out, and it goes due west--
I would take it if I were you.