it was all there on the surface
visible and tangible
sticking to your fingers like tar
smelling slightly rancid
betty’s batter made bitter by bad butter
/that’s a joke, son/
while it floated there
on top
a clever film nearly invisible
aside from its oilslick rainbow sheen
you tried to look beneath
but really
there’s no such thing as depth
no still waters running deeply
what you see is what you get
just a caul to wrap around my head
and the wise women ward off
the evil eye
whenever i enter the room
—–
Words and Feathers 
I thought of witches and a cauldron when I read this bewitching poem.
Ha ha. I just saw your comment. I like that. It never occurred to me.