She went home to Mother

And Mother held her in warm acceptance

Said ‘You know what to do, my daughter.’

She did

She collected all the ingredients

She needed for her spell

A strand from the slick, sticky centre

Of a black widow spider’s web;

The tears of an unhappy twin

Soaked into a widow’s hanky;

A sparrow’s fart in a milky jar

Sealed with the wax

From an angry oboist’s left ear

(Not the right, obviously);

And the last bleached rays

Of a winter sunset

Caught in a murderer’s mirror

These she mixed in a silver dish

By the light of a waning moon

With a couple of drops

Of her victim’s sweat

Not just any sweat

But the sweat of shame

The shame when he blushed

Scarlet as sin

When she asked him

Where he’d been that night

And she caught the drops

On the back

Of her slapping hand

All the ingredients she needed

For her spell of righteous revenge

And it worked, of course

He woke up dead

With a bitter, frozen heart

Meanwhile

Back home in the warm with her mother

Mother stroked her hair

Said ‘There, there

Plenty more pebbles

On the beach.’