Let Down Your Hair
Like Goldilocks, I’m off in search
of the bed that feels just right,
not the soft, too accessible perch
where strangers commute at night,
nor the hard one, the bed of nails
with blankets so small and thin,
or quicksand, which conveniently fails
to explain what I’m sinking in,
but the bed, as the fairy tale goes,
that isn’t too lumpy or brittle,
and doesn’t cut off or stretch my toes
for being too long, or little.
I don’t want a tortured affair
with some growly old bear that could bite;
Rapunzel, my dear: let down your hair,
wherever you sleep tonight.
by Ed Shacklee
Editor’s Note: This poem’s deft play on several fairy tales delightfully belies the underlying desperation for connection.