Melanie Bell

A Chicken Business

He knew chickens wouldn’t cut it.
The psychic said “It’s up to you,
get pigs.” Smoothed his nude pelvis, but it
was pointless. Business still fell through.

Cara used to bring him candy.
Carob canes perfumed barn’s earth,
minty fudge, truffles with pansies
on top, before Mandy’s birth.

She found out. He took the ferry
to Quebec, worked, wasn’t found.
He guards hunting grounds, stays wary
nights in case there’s something loud.

He wonders about his daughters,
Rorschach blots. He strikes a fire.

Confection

Work quickly or you can form knots.
Mom as always licked the batter:
Stay away from him. Do not
model for him. You’ve been caught
by him like syrup on a beater.
Work quickly or the batter could form knots.
She doesn’t know her self, or why she’s sought
solace in being a gaze’s centre.
Stay away from him. Do not
give him a place to stay. She thought,
stirring the vat, a full one-litre,
Work quickly or it might form knots.
Elegance is imperative. He brought
it to her. Mom tastes it from glaze bowls, sweeter.
Stay away from him. Do not
let him bite. He’s a stalker, got
a coyote’s body. Here, taste. Better
work quickly, don’t let it form knots.
Stay away from him. Do not.

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