The Collapse of Goldilocks by Rachel Inez Lane

Goldie has cut her hair and dyed it black and blue,
has a garden of tattoos running off her back, pours
whiskey in her porridge, and sucks on ketchup
packets with her legs spread out on the dash.

Goldie hangs with unsavory elves. These guys
cobble her stilettos and go-go boots. These rascals
kill fairies for their glitter to paint on platform shoes.
And at the disco, Goldie boogies on the bar,

slivers off her clothes, caterpillars over to Puss in Boots,
and slurs—This girl takes and wants in threes! Puss nods,
makes a martini from her tears, puts the olives in his eyes,
and thinks that if he had her, he’d make her look him right
in the pimentos. The disco spins on axis, Goldie tongues
her drink and purrs to Puss—This one is just right! This one
means something, but a cherry drops

from Goldie’s mouth when she spies Baby Bear, now,
a grown ass man, at the end of the bar. He breaks
his Bud bottle, hoists it the air, and Goldie knows
what Baby’s thinking—She didn’t earn this story. Why,
she was just a flaxen haired riff raff with a perm.
Baby Bear’s button eyes pop and his paws are in balls,
and he yells—Whore! The elves stop their grooving,

put their cones back on, pay their tabs, wrap a screeching
Goldie in an overcoat and place her gently like a princess
in the Caddy, and return with pipes, hammers,
and the hacksaw. Later that night, a bloody elf nails

a bear’s head next to the others while Goldie spreads
out on the rawhide, shakes her pills like maracas and rolls
and rolls all over that fur, feels herself up and howls
to a ceiling who barks back, then Goldie locks eyes

with Baby Bear’s head, wobbles over, takes him off
the wall and thinks about the day she ran off from a Ma
who slept with woodsmen, and a Pa who lost his hand
to a grifty ol’ pig and—Oh Baby—she whispers in his
ear—Oh, Baby Bear I was a rotten worm filled apple
that you should’ve dipped in honey and eaten head
first. A lousy little thang, who went looking for a bed,
which happened to be yours.


One response to “The Collapse of Goldilocks by Rachel Inez Lane

  1. There are tears in several beers after savoring this lil sorrowcake.

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