Little Red Riding Hood entered the cabin
With a basket full of fruit.
There’s a wolf where her grandmother should be
And it’s rather not cute.
You are not my grandmother, said Red
And that wolf replied from bed
‘Did you bring pecan pie
From that negro at market?’
Then Red shuddered
And her gaze she did arc it.
Oh, she said to herself
Eyelids closing half
It is you, grandmother
With your poignant racist laugh.