Saw a Witch

I saw a witch on the bus today.

Her hair, matted against her skull,
reached her tailbone like a road to night,
and she donned a skirt that barely curtained her thighs.
Her yellowed elbows and teeth and nails
were each pointed and harsh.
Her skin was sallow, dead, and stretched over the joints,
held together on the potions in her bag.
She shrugged a needle into her purse,
Still dripping with elixir,
And sighed as she scratched and clawed her knees.
Pain was in her silver eyes,
And her voiced purred to the blind man next to her.
I saw her whisper in his ear, and grab the leg meat he had and she lacked,
Before smacking her lips towards me.
She arched her spine and sent chills down mine,
Before opening her crossed legs and calling my name.
She stunk of burlesque and caviar.
I pulled the cord and stormed off the bus,
Crossing myself like the pope, and running home.
Elated, I fell into my couch spent and scared,
and stared at my reflection
in my flat screen.

I saw a witch in my TV today.