Painting by Vera Lucia Emerim
My Old Bag
There aren't any witches anymore.
The last one I knew got in her black
Mercedes and flew back to Paris.
She gave me an expensive tote bag.
I keep it by our bed.
It's filled with books.
She took her pussy with her but left
the kitty's rubber mouse behind.
It still squeals when you squeeze it.
She wasn't a grand or glorious witch.
They seldom are. She was ovwerweight
and horrid and had genital warts.
She wore long, loose sweaters and skin
tight pants. She knew everyone's business
better then her own. I don't know why
she left me that old bag. I probably never
will.
God's Eleventh Commandment
Scott Malby
Posted over on http://www.raggededge.btinternet.co.uk/myoldbag.htm">Ragged Edge
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