Walking Hazard

I have a hard time deciding what bothers me most when I walk country roads. Right now I swear it's the bitter cold, but come summer it would be those irritating flies.

Walking Hazard

#*!% flies wait to swarm any

mammal breeching their airspace.

Undaunted and doused with odious

repellent, I slap my way along.

A ribbit, sounding like an out-of-tune

guitar, betrays a bullfrog slavering

at the prospect of insects diverted

form my slipstream to his tongue.

And if I attached ribbons of flypaper

to the brim of my hat,

would my nose be the first and only

thing caught?

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor  

Recipes - II

At Christmastime I prepare a bunch of different goodies, but I always include the cut-out cookies of my childhood. And I think of my own mother, so at home in the kitchen.

Recipes - II

My mother played her recipes

               like an irascible improv artist.

Forays into the kitchen meant

     a chance to riff but always with

           a baseline of "farm fresh" eggs.

Quantities rarely specified, followed by

casual instructions to bake, cook or steam                       

                     "Until done."

 My Dad typed the only recipe with detailed

            directions that I have of hers.

        Rare as a piece of once lost music.

At Christmastime when I first baked a batch

              of these cut-out cookies

      I heard reproof buried in her words:

"Next time, don't be so stingy with the dough."

Her comment echoed like an off-key note

          until she reached for more.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor