I wrote your name nine times across a piece
of torn brown paper then I crossed it out
and rolled the paper up. I took lemon
juice and vinegar, half a cup of each,
and mixed them in a blue glass jar, about
a teaspoon of black pepper went next in
with some hair from a hound dog and a white
cat. I shook that bottle hard, then dropped your
rolled up name inside. I capped it, then I
threw it in a rushing stream. Nothing quite
like cold revenge. I want you hounded for
the rest of your days. You’ll never know why
your life’s gone to hell, you’ll know nothing but
loss. Tribulation. Unending bad luck
You Should Have Never Crossed Me by Juleigh Howard Hobson
