Next door sit on the front steps
each morning and, as I water
my flourishing garden, I hear

them giggling, cackling, snorting
over their daily brew.
They always make me smile.

The head witch, aka the Garden
Goddess Next Door, who often
dresses as a witch when she

hands out treats on Halloween,
leads the coven with her
sister and niece, discussing

all manner of things, I imagine,
though I cannot hear words.
I don’t want to. I live for

the laughter of the GGND
and her acolytes, good witches
all, the water from my

squirter backlit by morning,
freshening every thing,
just everything.