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

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