Pebbles on the windows
Her eyes catch children
who bedevil haggard widows
A voice like sour grass
pointed, green
wincing bitterness
A face like cottage cheese
spotted by rot
slipping off bones with ease
The hag watches closer
now sat on the porch
in light, even grosser
We stare
at her ragged hair
cracked wooden chair
We wait
for the day
she goes away
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