Two Poems

James Tate

WITCHES

There are all kinds of druids and

witches living in the hills around here.

They don’t hurt anybody as far as we know.

But you can always spot them at the grocery

store. First off, they drive these really

broken down old pick-up trucks, often with

hand-made wooden shelters over beds

like they could live in there. And they’re

covered in layers of shawls and scarves

and bedecked with long gaudy earrings

and necklaces and bracelets. And always

the long, long hair. They buy huge amounts

of supplies, twenty pounds of cheese, giant

bags of granola, etc. They move quickly

as if afraid of being burned at a stake.

We all know who they are and like having

them amongst us on their secret missions

to decorate their inner Christmas trees

with bedevilled human chickenbones.

NEW BLOOD

A huge lizard was discovered drinking

out of the fountain today. It was not menacing

anyone, it was just very thirsty. A small crowd

gathered and whispered to one another, as though

the lizard would understand them if they spoke

in normal voices. The lizard seemed not even

a little perturbed by their gathering. It drank

and drank, its long forked tongue was like a red

river hypnotizing the people, keeping them in a

trance-like state. “It’s like a different town,”

one of them whispered. “Change is good,” the

other one whispered back.