Goldilocks
A poem.
September 18, 2013
It is implied that a brunette would have knocked, 听
brought along a sack lunch,
sat on the porch,
texted daddy for permission.
She would have carried a trail map,
checked the house number, known by the curl
of smoke that bears were around. 听
Toffeelocks would have tested the bowls
against her cheek, would never have 听
gone to sleep at the scene of the crime.
Instead, only baby bear's chair, 听
oatmeal, and bed seem just right
for the eponymous blonde who 听
wants only to open doors as we turn pages, 听
papa bear's hot breath blasting
over our just-right couches, giving us
a perfectly good reason to run
shrieking into the forest, thrilled 听
to be alive in our own perspiring skin.