Locked Up

Asleep in a bed, all cozy and warm,

Rests a young, pale little form.

There Goldilocks dreams all her troubles away,

My oh my, it has been an eventful day.

 

A walk in the woods, no end in sight,

A perusal around a stranger’s home in the fading sunlight.

They won’t mind, right?

Three bowls of porridge, but only one that’s just right,

Three chairs, but only one seat that’s her height

Three beds, but only that’s right for a sleep’s good night.

A world in which only one thing out of three

Is as perfect as it should be,

Somehow she’s survived such a dreadful plight.

 

But wait, what’s that sound? A key in a lock?

The three bears are home, aren’t they in for a shock.

“Time for bed,” Mama Bear says to her son.

She ushers him there, but realizes his bed is filled by someone.

Rushing downstairs, Baby Bear in hand, she tells Papa, “Go, get your gun.”

He runs to the basement and unlocks the safe,

Grabs the rifle, and takes to his place.

“Who are you?” he booms to the girl all in lace.

She sits up and yawns, making a snarling face.

Papa bears pulls the trigger, the gun pops- bop bop bop.

“Call 911,” and Mama Bear does, holding Baby tight while she speaks to the cop,

“Intruder alert, come help us please,” she cries in the phone as she sinks to her knees,

Then whispers, “She’s dead. Lord, forgive us please.”

 

The cops survey the scene, they say, “She didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Papa Bear protests, but they say, “Don’t worry, you were well within your rights.”

The coroner comes and zips up the body in bag, soon to be interred within stone.

Statements are taken, no charges are pressed, soon the circus leaves and leaves the family alone.

They look at each other, remembering Goldilocks’s gold locks stained rusty brown.

Three things they have now are three matching frowns.

“Good thing we had that gun ‘just in case,’” Mama Bear finally squeaks.

“Good thing indeed,” Papa Bear forlornly agrees.

 

How to move on after such a terrible thing?

For Papa Bear moving on involves drinking,

But only after Baby stops speaking to him.

And he can’t stop catching Mama’s furtive side glancing

And noticing the way her mouth is always set, grim.

 

Two years and a messy divorce later,

Mama Bear has remarried a satyr

A nice insurance banker named Steve Haloran.

Baby Bear, now Lockdown, leads a street gang,

A group of delinquents called the Wild Elands.

And most days you can find Papa down at the pier,

Passed out drunk in the sand.

 

 

The day Goldilocks intruded their space

Was the day that she died and the day that they stayed

But also the day that their lives ended as they knew them.

Fate, or God, or whatever your faith,

Picked them up, spit them out, after it chewed them.

One thing’s for sure, things will never be the same

As they were in the days before Goldilocks came.

 

This poem is about: 
My country

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