gnarl

Cookies



Three dozen men of gingerbread

still softly warm from oven love

have lost six of their little heads

within plump grins that float above.



The twins wax sweetly corpulent

and lick the rest with greeded eyes

as the remaining legion went

into a jar installed on high.



Girlchildren vowed right there and then

next day to gobble every inch

of tiny, spicy mannequins;

a kitchen revolution French



Come sunrise, though their beds hung low,

the pillows made two empty piles.

A trail of little prints Bordeaux

led to a jar of ginger smiles.