The Barren witch

She died at two, after her lungs gave out.
She had it hardest at the end.
My sister rang to make sure I’d be about,
In Reilly’s after the burial,
And I thought,
The barren witch was dead.
She used to cut the ball in two,
When kicked into her garden.
We hated her for that.
It made us best her at every turn.
She crossed the street when we’d draw near,
Even as a kid I felt her fear.
I hadn’t thought of her for thirty years.
I asked about the name we christened her but,
Felt the shame,
At what we’d done as kids.
I saw it their eyes.
And I was thankful,
That none of us realised the true potential,
Of the monsters we could become.
But what we’d done,
Those silly pranks we thought as fun,
Were terrors that could never be undone.


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