For Jo Bell
It bursts in the middle of an incantation -
onlooking guild members momentarily unsure
if GAAAARRGGGGH FUCK! is some
recondite fragment of lost Latin
or a secret name of The Ancient Ones
who now slumber, huge and numberless,
in the magma-sluiced tummy of the earth.
The corkscrew nub of his yew wand
fritzes like a loose connection.
A few wizards feel their beards crackle with static.
One quietly pushes back his desk,
goes to phone an ambulance.
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