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The witch sees green. She sets sail from door to door.
Her wake fells trees. “What the highest bidder forgot
to consider” was the black and blue broom in her grasp.
—Poet (sponsor words in quotes)

What the Highest Bidder Forgot to Consider

She wanted to draw up a contract for my trees. The leaves,
in a rut, are shaking. Scrupulous her hatchet points
at this one, that one, this and that… Sales in her blood.

What devil taught her her trade? Money grows on trees.
She never heard doesn’t. Her pioneering hooks in oaks.
She’s a palm reader, a ruinous rattlesnake, a rat fink.

I spotted her close by. She held my husband’s eye, but,
as I’ve said there was another pair looking on. “Calamity,”
the silence, of my small bit of forest, whispers, and
goosebumps shatter the hopes and dreams of the lip licker.

Con artist in shootout. She’s not considered their feelings
at all. She’s prepared to pluck them out by the roots
or leave a bloody stump; she’d take them all down
with her double barrels, but the shrew is shrewd.

When my neighbor recommended us, as nice as she was,
the grifter rubbed her palms and cackled, but not too loud.
She met her match. I took her broom, cracked it in half.

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