by Nick Gisburne
Before they salt their soup of steaming sins,
The witches wax their warts and poach a plot.
Excessively expensive wizard skins,
Essential to the spell, are quick to rot.
With scandalous, disgusting disregard
For treasured old traditions they were taught,
The skins are sidelined; conjured with a card,
A bargain bag of blasphemy is bought.
A hundred fairy fingers, filled with fish,
Are devilled in a dragon, overnight.
A dodgy, discombobulated wish
Combines them, light as leather, taut and tight.
But sprinkled with a saucy splash of soup,
Their wanton wizard’s wand displays a droop.
