Repulsive and chaotic,
our capricious antagonist
holds the threshold between life and death
which now seems hers alone to define.
She careens through the pine forests in a mortar, full tilt,
propelling herself through the gloaming,
a broomstick snagging the brush beneath the marble vessel,
sweeping away all trace of her passing.
A snarl splits her carved apple head revealing iron teeth;
all of her wreathed in the rich sticky stench of roasted infant flesh.
it’s a wonder we believe, but
no wonder we behave.
But approach her with the right words, they say,
with the correct words,
and it might just be possible she’d help us
if we perform the difficult tasks she assigns to gain her favour.
