When do we tell them about the apple-tree witch?

The ghosts in the upstairs lav
saw the light-bulb as a cousin
so stayed all year round.

Nan didn’t mind; it was cool
in summer and in winter it
saved on buying a freezer.

Uncle Billy didn’t. ‘If they look
who cares. With my arse
I should be so lucky’.

Besides, they’d left home,
not like those in the garden
lav with its newspaper squares.

Those ghosts made the dark
into fingers that pulled hair
and broke knicker elastic.

At Christmas, holiday
relatives never believed us
until after the Queen’s speech.

Published in three drops from a cauldron

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