Bent with age and surly with pain
She lives in a respectable area
Surrounded by gardens and high hedges
Her old sprawling house,
Resplendent with dogs and magical paraphernalia,
Invites clients to leave money on the window sill.
Groups clustered to hear and follow
Instructions and curses
Patiently lying on tables or
Balancing on odd balls
Come and go by the hour.
The dogs breathe rapidly
Their sour smell of rain permeates the halls.
This temple, without rhyme or reason,
Draws the easily lead and wondering public
To waste sweet hours lifting imaginary tools
And cough up tickly hairs for weeks to come.
© HMH, 2012