There we were:
wrapped up nice and cozy in the winter
and all ready for a cellophane hibernation
with no expiration date (or at least one
that makes Twinkies look stale).
We were considered loud like astronaut blankets
or Eco-friendly bags of potato chips,
but even we set no paw in a movie theater,
because plastic is the best insulator
and we were too sleepy to see a film anyways
and baby bear was upside down and backwards.
Besides, the little one hated scary movies
since we told him about the time
a fairly feisty fairy with fiery hair
stole the oatmeal from his baby bowl.
So we hibernated safely,
wrapped daintily in plastic.
Or so we thought.
But a shrinkwrapped-cellophane-cave-bag
could not protect us from the appetite
of a Big, Bad Alice or Goldilocks
or whatever they call the troublemakers
written by name in books.
She left a hole in our ceiling.
Stole our baby.
Maybe she’s torturing him right now
biting off limbs or sticking his head
ice bits of ice cream:
We can see up the rabbit hole to the tree roots of her world.
We’re coming to get her.
We’ll bring an army.
Nobody messes with the Bears Gummy.