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It is the cookie that she wants

No teddy bear, no owl, no bunny.

It is the cookie that she holds

In hand, not in her tummy.

She takes it with her to the park

She holds it all through bedtime story.

She’d bring it right into the bath

To her it’s mandatory.

Her mother sighs

Because she knows:

It is the cookie that will crumble

All over blanket, sheets, and pillow.

The cookie that she’ll have to pry the last remains of

From her child’s hand tomorrow.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt