Oh, my dear Flamin’ Hot Cheeto,
what we once could have been
but now, never could be.
You have fallen to depths beyond my reach,
the baby’s asleep on my chest
and I fear extending my arm
would startle the snooze,
so, my dear Flamin’ Hot Cheeto,
resting on the carpet floor,
we shall not meet.
We cannot meet.
We will not meet.
I will never taste your crunchy,
chemically enhanced, toxic goodness,
but perhaps another time,
when the baby is preoccupied
with Activity Fox or ransacking the bookcase,
a chance for us to rekindle the flame will arise,
however, by then the moment will have passed,
you will be stale like a stick of Styrofoam
and I will throw you away,
leading us to,
what I’m afraid to say,
will be the end of our story.
But I will never forget you,
my dear Flamin’ Hot Cheeto,
resting on the carpet floor.
My name is Blake Nail and I write from Streetsboro, OH where I live with my wife, son and pesky feline. I have short stories published with Ahoy Comics and currently write for Mockingbird. You can find more of my work at www.blakenail.com