my childhood was marred, scarred,
terrorized, traumatized by images, visions
of the wicked witch of the west.
I’d only see her once a year
(this was before VHS, Beta, and DVD’s),
but memories of that flying bicycle,
that broomstick and that black dress and hat
would haunt me throughout the year.
Later I’d learn that
witchcraft is just cultural expression –
and a black dress is just a fashion statement –
and a broomstick is a symbol of a necessary occupation –
and secretly, secretly, secretly,
I always wanted that flying bicycle.