Witch narrative

An idea for a narrative: The women (or men and women) in a highrise martyr a witch. Their proof:
In the laundry room, no one has ever seen her search for a singleton sock--hers always come out in pairs. Her permanent press items come out actually fresh and ironed looking. Her fitted sheets are always folded into perfect, flat, squares.

A Song of Plenty

 

A Song of Plenty

Oh, we’re the cops and firemen, and the teachers, too.

You think we’re there to help you, but we want to stick it to you.

Our salaries run up deficits, although it’s kept hush hush

All we cost the country would make old Wall Street blush.

The bankers take home little, just enough to fill their pools

And their club dues, fill their Prius, and buy their wives some jewels.

A European vacation is the least that is their due

Because they’re job creators, not like me and you.

They fix all of the interest rates, and trade on inside dope

It keeps the country going, a gives us lots of hope

You should not ever question that, unless you are a mope

They bust their hump collectively, it surely is a cope.

And if they fill their coffers with pension funds galore

It’s just because they need it, cause life might be a bore

If they did not have the moolah to buy and sell and trade

And without it they would fade.

They slog away to keep us safe, to teach our children, too

Oh wait, that’s us--I mean it’s me and you

Who guard their homes, put out the fires ,and teach their kids each day

And they want us to keep quiet, or they’ll take our jobs away.

Eulick McCreavis

And

Mike Perkovich

George Sand

Aurore Dupin, er, George Sand
Would opt for the wild not the bland
She had no use for the priests
And her books never ceased
And she never stopped rockin' Chopin.

Debussy Fields