Alice and the Three Bears

20130720-175942.jpgPhotography © LR Sarbu

Sweet Tooth

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:
Brain-freeze torture.

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.
You’ll see.
Nobody messes with the Bears Gummy.

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