By Ann Howells

True, I was not headed
directly to Grandma’s house,
did not carry jellied consommé,
cucumber sandwiches, profiteroles.
Still . . . he waylaid me, lured me
from the path.

Blankets pulled to his chin
he watched
with great big eyes,
listened with great big ears,
slavered and drooled
behind great sharp teeth.

When woodsmen arrived
he donned Granny’s apron,
served sweet tea and gingerbread.
When woodsmen left
he licked his lips,
slavered, languidly ravished me.

Ann Howells has edited Illya’s Honey for eighteen years, recently taking it digital. Her publications are: Black Crow in Flight (Main Street Rag), Under a Lone Star (Village Books),  Letters for My Daughter (Flutter), an anthology of D/FW poets, Cattlemen & Cadillacs (Dallas Poets Community), and Softly Beating Wings (Blackbead), which won the William D. Barney Memorial Chapbook Contest 2017. Ann’s work appears widely in small press and university journals. She has four Pushcart nominations.