Twenty-seven pairs
Of witches knickers
Hang from hedges
From the top to the bottom of the hill.
They flutter and fuss
Distract me as I pass
Casting spells on
Passing cars.
Their labels flashing
Into your consciousness -
Tesco, Asda, Somerfield or such -
The wind trying them on for size
Before it realises
Each one is too much -
Then lets it fly on its way.
Do you ever stop to wonder
About the witches who place them there
And where do they hang to dry
The rest of their clothes?
Who knows?
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