By Eric Lawson
She’s on a stealthy secret mission—
though it’s a secret only to herself
and to the bag of Doritos she’s absconding with.
Orangefinger has struck again.
Powder cheese remnants adorn the chair,
slimy cheese chunks beautify Barbie dolls,
and orange handprints are hastily smeared
all over the innocent face of the refrigerator.
She is a mere three feet tall, this culprit.
on her trail of cold, crumbling chip crumbs.
No forensic methods are needed to deduce
what, where, why, and when on this day.
I need only to spot the orange goo on the
bedroom light switch and swipes on the wall.
At last, I come to the lair of the beast herself.
I was purposely slow on the uptake for she
is fast asleep, dreaming of Doritos castles
and chili cheese sauce to hold it all together.
I reach to wipe her mouth clean and to remove
the bag from her tiny, orange crusted hands.
she nestles the bag closer, murmurs “’Ritos”
and I leave her to her chip castle building.
Orangefinger will no doubt strike again.
Maybe next time we’ll use code names.