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Untitled MAG
I sit, caged in an auto-da-f".
The raging fires glaze from her skinny corpse.
The mop of death-black hair
Covering her pruned Hecatic face.
Those squinting eyes,
And the smirk
Make me shudder.
That nose, like a vulture seeking out foul smells
Then discloses all discoveries to that
Hairy man from Hell.
As she sweeps past,
I feel the scorching heat of her presence
And wonder,
English teacher or Satan?
You be the judge.
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