The cauldron won’t fit in her studio lair.
She uses a teacup – the steam curls her hair
as she stirs a foul brew with a demitasse spoon
beneath a pale sliver of late August moon.
The leather-bound volumes, the parchment-paged tomes
of secret arcana dictated by gnomes,
have now been recycled, her favorites all digitized –
the ones that concern how a man can be midgetized,
as well as the charms that require spotted toads,
and lots of her secret chants, hexes and codes.
No catalog stacks, as she now finds it wise
to just look online for frogs’ toes and newts’ eyes.
Her web-ready broomlet, is very compact
and because of her spells will not ever be hacked.
It’s also got features like triple torque vector,
with cruise control, power brakes, wind speed selector.
The bulky black dresses were saggy and baggy.
Her stretch pants need less space and don’t look so haggy.
Such clothing may not be approved by all witches,
but covens use Zoom now – they won’t see her britches.