MSP in Winter

Whenever a snowstorm hits the Twin Cities, the snowplow drivers at the airport take pride in their ability to tackle the job. And I have never doubted their skills in keeping the runways safe.

MSP in Winter

A chorus line of snowplows

takes to the airport tarmac

kicking up powder in perfect unison,

coordinated as the Rockettes.

Behind the scene, weeks of work

go into exact choreographed routines.

But all shows, sweeping or short,

call for last minute tuning: changes

in line-up, a tweak in tempo.

The crew, in sync and jazzed, commits

to the runway, sustains the rhythm despite

minor slips in the dance, drifts of snow.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

 

Independent Streak

Tomorrow is Inauguration Day, and still the country is plagued with uneasiness. I wrote this poem between the Presidential Election and the storming of the capitol. Since then I have spotted new Trump flags on the way to the cabin. Signs of continued disquietude.

Independent Streak

Flags fly for Trump/Pence:

some MAGA cap red,

some Stars and Stripes blue.

Even in defeat the defiance

feels palpable, unshifting

in stiff winds.

A reminder of unrest

in the American psyche.

Over time these banners

planted firmly in the earth

will fade and tatter

but tenacity defines their roots.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor       

Urban Messiah

The words for the poem below were taken from a sidebar to a picture captured pre-COVID. It was a joyous summertime photo, but after the events in the news my mind simply refused to go there.

Urban Messiah

A fountain showcased in July

in New York City. A shirtless

man, drenched and homeless, atop

the grates on a hot summer night.

Others reveling in the waters

honor the easy figure in mysterious

sociability, relax with the stranger,

and seem to cool off in his orbit.

                     *

         *

                                 *        * * *

A bunch of shots recalled.

           The moment

filtered to black-and-white. The carefree

                                         high brought low.

The heat on the street returned.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor