Trespass

Clip-clop! Go Timbs up a marble drive,

Skintight cat suit, confident stride.

Palm trees bow, birds-eye view,

rules don’t limit blonde and blue.

She tiptoes quiet, nobody home,

Manicured claws clutch shiny chrome.

She jimmies the lock - click-snap-pop!

House #4, zero plans to stop.

Cunning. Protected. Bold. Unafraid.

Ding-dong! Sings the bell, in wait she lays.

Creeeeaak! Goes the door with a whispery whine,

She removes the zip ties and cuts the phone line.

She covers the cameras, drugs the dog,

And wickedly twirls like a porcelain doll.

She laughs. She swirls. She bows and bends.

Prepared to murder, skilled at pretend.

She fumbles through closets, tries on clothes,

Preens in a floor-length and strikes a pose.

Bloop! Goes her boots across the rich wood floor,

Boing! Down the hall, ripping pricey decor.

Past Basquiats, Picassos and silken rugs,

She skips room to room, cocky, smug.

CRACK! Screams a chair she plops down in.

It buckles beneath her, panoramic spin.

“Oopsie!” she giggles and saunters away,

Then finds three bowls on a sleek glass tray.

“Too hot,” she sniffs. “Too cold,” she frowns.

“This one’s just right,” she wolfs it down.

She yawns and stretches contentedly,

as fake eyelashes flutter prettily.

The carbs hit hard, her limbs grow loose.

She finds a bedroom and chucks a deuce.

Bed one? Two stiff. Bed two? Too wide.

Bed three? She squeals and climbs inside.

She snores in sheets she did not earn, fully

knowing the lesson she’ll never learn.

Cue the Bears – now back from brunch.

Their tires skid, autumn leaves crunch.

Clink! Of jewelry, shuffle of shoes,

Drunk on food, fun and booze.

Jokes. Laughter. Three in the crowd.

Black, unbothered, and unbowed.

They find the crib completed tossed,

Safety tattered, comfort lost.

The couch is flipped, the place is wrecked,

Their art disturbed, their closets checked.

And there in bed, soundly sleeping Goldi,

They gather ‘round and stare at her coldly.

She stirs and gasps, sits up in bed.

“If any of you touch me, y’all ass is dead.”

“Who will they believe, you or me?”

She raises an eyebrow pointedly.

Bang! Out the door she quickly flew,

Ring-ring! To the cops – “And they chased me, too!”

She wears a halo. They wear the hoods.

One pretty little lie and everything’s all good.

The world will believe her. Of course it will.

Plus, the Bears are dark and fun to kill.

Who gets the grace? Who gets the blame?

She’s run this race and mastered this game.

She smirks as sirens begin to swell.

Freshman drama had taught her well.

Villain becomes victor, victims - victimized.

Even fairytales have been colonized.