Miss Weathers and Me

The black clad arm scaled the old concrete wall, over the top, down the other side With friends in tow, I stopped to rest, leaning still against the six foot structure As a boy of eight, I frequented the alleys and hidden passageways of the city Just then, spindling fingers struggled to reach, to grasp They were reaching for me! Now just inches from my head Only the gaping mouths of my friends, frozen in terror, alerted me to the danger I looked up to see a wrinkled hand Just a hand and an arm in a tight black knit sweater almost touching my hat Racing hearts fueled a speedy escape But this was close, way too close We had been warned about Miss Weathers Old lady Weathers Neighborhood lore She cuts up little boys and puts them in pickle jars Don’t ever go near, never accept an invitation inside You’ll never come out How could I not have realized whose house that concrete fence belonged to That mistake was never made again We didn't tell anyone what had happened that day but we knew the stories were true I’ll never forget Miss Weathers and how I almost ended up in her pantry