THE POET VISITS A WICCAN BOOKSTORE


The local witch sells the magickal fix,
eats alchemical baloney sandwiches,
charges ten dollars for leaping
over a fire at a pig roast,
plus cracklings for the Lady & Lord.

I leaf through a book of Celtic love spells:
"Hey, I wrote these two millennia ago,
sold away the reprint rights cheap,
they were cut & paste jobs anyway.
I'll warn you right now, they don't work."