A Wicked Brew

By J. Lynne Moore

Her steady hand moved with grace,
As the cauldron bubbled in this wicked place.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,
She would have her revenge, for she knew the truth.

Banished he would be, from his sinful life,
No more to cause her dead heart strife.

The wings of a fly and a rotten toad,
The sweat from a horse a sailor rode.

Forty-two stalks of swamp root grass,
A pinch of ruby dust and the gills of a bass.

Boil it for five and stir it twice,
Then test the juice out on a pair of mice.

Victory would be hers by the break of dawn,
One tiny sip and he would be gone.

No more would he lie, no more would he cheat,
In moments he would be sitting in the devil’s seat.

“Drink my love, your morning brew.”
She cackled to herself, “If he only knew!”

He thought he was smart and oh so clever,
Now he calls hell home, forever and ever.

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