Shape-Change Poem by Margaret Alice Second

A conspiracy of mites, dust and allergy makes life
a misery – I am either very happy outside wearing
magical sandals or sitting in the depths of despair
in an air-conditioned office where I shape-change

into Quasimodo, hunchback, gnarled fingers, warts –
oh wait, that’s witches, I also become the Gingerbread
Witch of Hansel and Gretel, it’s why I identify with Alice
in Wonderland, eating anything marked ‘eat me’

breathing pollen, house-mites and dust-laden air
changes me from hour to hour, I can only be a
dancing fairy outside – any building changes me
into a variety of horror story characters - though

I don’t mind being a vampire or witch as long as
I can fly, but changing into Quasimodo
makes me want to cry …