The Wizard knocks upon my door.

The hour is late

stale breath I adore.

I let him in with his bottle of gin.

He grins at me toothless then

grabs the tin…

a cup I save just for him.

What loquacious tale he may tell

doesn’t sit with my mutton and his smell.

He is pretty drunk and so am I.

Can’t seem to open my sightless eye…

Why I invite him in each night?

Is the reason mother sits dead in fright.

She stares at us from across the room.

I only hit her once with the broom.

The Wizard promised she’d soon be gone.

You know Wizards, they’re full of moon.

So, I let him in when it gets dark.

We plan each night another brain fart.

Mother just won’t go away. She’s bloated

and smells as  the ugliest  tart. But, soon

we will figure something out when the gin

runs low and our lights go out.