Mean, old crones
Rattle their bones
In the middle of the
Dank, dark night
A buffet of pills
Won’t cure their ills
It just whets
Their appetite
With sighs and moans
Wails and groans
They crave pity
For their plight
But chortle with glee
When they can see
They’ve hurt someone
For sheer spite
Mean and bad
Or maybe just mad
Hate fills them
With delight
They like to lie
And get high
...Without a broom
They still take flight…
Kathy Figueroa
Mean Old Crones was published in The Bancroft Times newspaper on October 8, 2015.