housefall

A bit extreme, don’t you think?
—the house on the head, I mean.
You know: the little horizontal- striped legs
sticking out from under,
their size four ruby slippers
toes-up, as they say,
and right in the midst of
those cutsy stogey-puffin’ Munchkins.
I’m not sure I’d be in favour.
Of the house, I mean:
dropping on her like that.
Like, how would you feel?
One minute, you’re a wretched spinster
pumping along on your ecologically
efficient bicycle—
and the next, you’re a dead witch
toes-up under a fallen house.
I repeat: how would you feel?
Like, it’s not as if you were
a cigar- chomping red-neck
belching along in your pickup,
shotguns stacked in the rack behind your head.
Power to witches, I say—even evil ones!
and your little dog, too!