It Might Be True

When we kids complained about
the bad things that happened
our hired man told us an old witch
lived in our big grove and cast
spells to keep us from going to the
circus or playing baseball on
Sunday afternoons. With our
bows and arrows (my youngest
brother carried a spear, a pole
pointed with a nail) we scoured
the grove. We found a depression in
the leaves like a huge nest and
several cloven hoof prints and
thought we heard a sound like a
laugh. Then it got dark and we
hit for home. But today, grown up,
earning my way, the morning paper
chills me with the fear that there is
a terrible witch who haunts us
to drive us mad.