Auntie Em serves up dinner
with a side dish of dust
a whole bowl of it
the grits
too gritty for false teeth
so Uncle Henry takes two bites
before twisting a face
and tossing it off the back porch

where the grass cowers meekly
then coughs up blood
in wilted browns
and too many summer maladies

the blades are all spotted
and crawling with rot
and this is Dorothy’s doing
(whether she knows it or not)
she came back to Kansas
with more than mud
on her pretty shoes

she’s in the fields now
wandering hand-in-hand
with her Scarecrow, wondering
why the wheat’s gone rancid
and the corn’s gone comatose
failing to notice the sepia tones
and how it’s all sepsis
and decay
an infection spreading
off the corpse of a dead witch

(ding dong, the witch is dead
but hark now, her curse remains)

as talons perch over dusty plains
the Scarecrow points skyward
but he calls out his warning
too late!

tornado-claws poke out
from swirling, cyan clouds
while the whole sky is churning
like a puddle of damp bones

a cacophony of winged monkeys
descend
from a maelstrom of air
those claws lashing out
to snatch that poor farm girl
up by her hair

dragging Dorothy back

home, sweet
home