High Pressure

Fortunately, Minneapolis is at the far edge of the "Heat Dome." And we are not currently at the cabin but the sentiment remains the same. 

High Pressure

Heat smothers the days,

                 the wind chimes silent.

              

Mirages scuttle away useless.

The scorpion sting of summer

threatens me in a cabin without AC,

a retreat deep in the north woods.

In cramped flats and in single-wides

neglected neighbors sweat in silence,

count on modest fans to provide

                                           the remedy.

    But when small blades do not stir

             enough air to cool me

        I purchase something bigger

without a thought for those who cannot.

The disabled, the elderly, my neighbor's

         brother, Bernie, put on shorts,

pull the shades, and down a tepid drink.

         Privilege buys me ignorance.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor 

The Masterpiece Baker

This is the latest in a series of historical figures choosing another occupation instead of the one that made them famous.

The Masterpiece Baker

                   after Carl Tomlinson

If Botticelli were a baker, he would

have selected prized hives of honey

and a king's ransom of wheat,

not the commoner's rye and barley,

for his bread loaves, created panettone

studded with jewels of candied light,

concocted cannolis with ends dipped 

in springtime, formed half-shell meringues

wispy as vapor, generated panna cotta

smooth as the satin gowns of noblewomen,

created biscotti tasting as scandalous

as bedding a bargirl, and attracted

the attention of the Medicis, known

for their appetites and for bankrolling

favored sons of Florence. 

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor