This Mistress.

On two legs she stands like a human, 

But with those claws she perches like a falcon.

With the tight bun she acts like a mistress,

But the red hair, a black widow, huntress. 

Her voice makes it clear shes a woman,

But a siren, a banshee, a fiend.

An expression like a dark smiling bludgeon,

Hits you, hits us, hits me, hits him and hits her. 

Her tongue secretes its cyanide 

through words of false praise, and lies. 

And her fingers they form a web, 

Which the children find hard to escape. 

She stands at the end of that hall, 

Small, compact, and while the fact remains 

that shes short.

The children around her recoil, 

and twist their faces away,

Contort. 

She waits for the right moment.

And bam, you’re on the floor dazed,

And in shock.