Mrs. Mad Scientist

Mrs. Mad Scientistby Rochelle Mitchell


The wife of the mad scientist gets no sympathy
While she holds his test tubes
And heats his Bunsen burners,
She says, “Yes, dear,”
And nods politely,
When listening to her husband’s latest scheme.
She tells herself she should have married the plumber
When her husband locks himself in the basement.
Life would be much simpler
And she would not have to explain to the children
Why Daddy seems to care more
About his Jacob’s ladder than their birthdays.
Then she is left to raise the children alone
After her husband turns himself into a giant reptile,
The neighbors into small furry rodents,
And blows the laboratory to kingdom come,
Yes, she should have married the plumber.



by Rochelle Mitchell


Wizards are smart fellows.
They wear big hats
And long robes to hide
Their pajamas.
They have long whiskers
Because they rather
Think glorious thoughts
Than shave.

They order pizza,
Look to the heavens
And chart the planets
While us foolish mortals
Fold our laundry
And clean our bedrooms.

Wizards smell a great deal.
Who has time for bathing
When the King needs you
To forecast weather
And plan battles
Based on the alignment
Of the planets and stars?



by Rochelle Mitchell


In dusty bookshelves
Some books gather no dust
They smell of leather,
Glue, parchment and ink
That the centuries
Cannot decay.
Calling to would-be wizards
“Open me.
Learn my magic,”
They fill your head
With tales of fancy.
Their silence call
Speaks of gold, kingdoms,
And your fondest wish granted.
Don’t listen!
Because ancient magic
Will never do as you command
The ancient magic serves no master
But itself.




Illustration by J. Andrew World

by Rochelle Mitchell


You’ve seen me working at the corner bar.
You sip your weak beer
While your bloodshot eyes follow
The seam of my fishnet stockings,
But, honey, you aren’t my type.

My friend, Sarah, who works at the blood bank,
Gives me the discarded blood,
Tainted blood,
Spoiled blood,
In sterile plastic sealed containers.

She says I’m kinky
When I bite her neck or her thigh.
She coos in delight
And laughs at the truth,
My truth.

Vampires are chic now.
All the rage.
The kids into the gothic scene
Wear black eye make-up on
Ghoul white faces.

You see another Goth Girl.
I am pale skin and moonlight,
With black hair and a pierced tongue.
I keep my secret safe
By hiding in plain sight.



by Rochelle Mitchell


Black pupils in white glowing eyes
Peer through the darkness.
They entrap me,
Promising secrets of another world,
Another way of being.

If I give in to them,
I will lose my soul.
Am I willing to trade
One soul for another?
One life for another?

No, I say,
But those eyes beckon me closer,
Closer and closer.
Lying to me.
Hypnotizing me.



by Rochelle Mitchell


All that remains of my family
Are names and dates etched in stone.
I stop to put flowers on my sister’s grave,
But the night calls.

Who shall die tonight so I shall live?
Someone’s sister or brother?
Husband or wife?
How many plots have I filled?

The crypts give no reply.
All is silent,
Except for the dry autumn leaves
Crackling under my feet.