Bent with age and surly with pain

She lives in a respectable area

Surrounded by gardens and high hedges

Her old sprawling house,

Resplendent with dogs and magical paraphernalia,

Invites clients to leave money on the window sill.

Groups clustered to hear and follow

Instructions and curses

Patiently lying on tables or

Balancing on odd balls

Come and go by the hour.

The dogs breathe rapidly

Their sour smell of rain permeates the halls.

This temple, without rhyme or reason,

Draws the easily lead and wondering public

To waste sweet hours lifting imaginary tools

And cough up tickly hairs for weeks to come.



© HMH, 2012







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