The Magic Potion

I bang my head against the wall. 

I’m mad about everything—

Myself, the world, too much hatred. 

And now my head hurts from banging.

Where’s the magic potion?

I know it’s here somewhere.

I better stop banging and start looking.

I’ll begin in the kitchen. 

Maybe it’s already in the stew. 

But if it’s not there, I’ll go outside

Look in the tree past the porch

Where the birds chase the squirrels.

If I don’t find it in the kitchen or in the tree 

I’m going to have to ask the wizard for help.

Sometimes she knows where it is. 

But sometimes she’s as forgetful as I am.

If she doesn’t know, there’s only one solution:

We’re going to have to stand together 

In the kitchen, scratching our heads, 

And then sit down and eat some stew.