Heather Truett
Little Red Riding Hood
Little Red Riding Hood
wrapped in police tape.
Her body’s a crime scene.
Little Red went for one
little walk and the Wolf
caught her, of course.
Little bruises on her neck,
gray fur under her fingernails,
and one cop says,
“Little girls shouldn’t be dressed
so provocatively. Did you see
the color of that velvet cape?”
Little drops of blood trickle
from the wolf’s broken nose,
and he threatens to press charges.
“Little Red attacked me,” he says.
“I’m not really all that bad a beast.
I come from a very good family.”
Little baseball players on trophies
in a case behind the wolf when he
is interviewed. Think about his future.
Little tears ballooning on her face,
and that red cape was a waving invitation,
the girl a bullfighter with no prize.
Little Red wrapped in a blanket, tucked
inside a hospital room, all alone, while
the world decides the wolf is her victim.
Heather Truett is a writer, a mother, and a somewhat heretical pastor’s wife. Her credits include: The Mom Egg, Vine Leaves Literary, Tipton Poetry Journal, Drunk Monkeys, Panoply Zine, and the Young Adult Review Network.
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