Fall Hunt

It won't be long until deer hunting season is in full swing here in Wisconsin. I know the herd must be culled, but a sight I glimpsed a year back left me with mixed feelings.

Fall Hunt

A glut of does, eyes vacant,

strung up by their necks,

hang shoulder to shoulder

like a scene captured in sepia

of hunting prowess circa 1880.

Only a rusty pickup in the yard

and piecemeal building wrap tacked

on a tired looking homestead

betray today's time frame.

Gutted and butchered this bounty

would more than feed a multitude

of families for the winter.

Machismo sanctioned

by the State in northern forests.

On the plains buffalo, also, roamed

too numerous to count, once.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor 

Willows and Rain

 I confess, this is a repeat from years past, but the beauty of late autumn after a rain is ongoing.

Willows and Rain

Tiny beads of water cling

to the underside of thin

willow strips October bare

except for occasional

remaining petals

of burnt autumn

hanging off wispy ends

like a display tree at Tiffany's

dappled with diamonds and gold leaf.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Rootstock

Years ago, I couldn't understand why "old folks" would expend the effort to plant striplings they would never experience as fully grown trees. Age has made me wiser. 

Rootstock

His yard stretched like a piece 

of undulating prairie

without the limb-shedding oak

to anchor it until the owner,

ancient as the felled tree,

tacked the land firmly to the earth,

planting two saplings. Next door

college-age me could not comprehend

why the pensioner turned

the clay-heavy soil to settle striplings

he would never nurture to maturity.

                         *

Now beneath crisp autumn winds,

I dirty my own knees and strain

my back for a pair of young crabapples.

Breaking up ground, wrestling

with root balls, and wrapping trunks

against foraging deer.

I pause to unknot the kinks in my neck,

and glimpse a young neighbor

surveying my work, certain

of my daftness.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Sunscreen

Coppertone used to push sun-bathing products promoting "healthy" tans. The company swiftly changed to lotions and creams with various SPF ratings when the world woke up to the serious skin damage caused by the sun. And now like a faithful acolyte I buy and apply their latest potions hoping to keep UVB and UVA rays at bay.  

Sunscreen

Grease paint, war paint smeared across my face,

Ghostlike impressions linger in its wake,

SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Summertime beckoned with a sunny embrace,

Most of us applied bronzers, unaware of the stakes.

No grease paint, war paint smeared on this face.

Then warnings and sunblock came to replace

Fairy-tale suntans. Hard to trust a remake

With SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

My fingers rub it in, try to leave no trace.

But despite being careful I still spot mistakes

Of grease paint or war paint smeared on my face.

Some days I look like a clown, a disgrace

With cheeks blotchy as a sugar dusted cake

Thanks to SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Aging traps us all, and UV rays hold no grace.

Although I grumble, I know healthy skin takes

Grease paint, war paint smeared across my face

Leaving SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor