Red Riding Hood’s grandma had chest pains galore,
cholesterol looming at two-forty-four,
and blood-pressure spikes. Though she kept it all quiet,
her daughter found out and imposed a strict diet.
No more would she bundle Red off with a pail
of cookies for Granny; instead she sent kale
and casseroles ranging from foul to insipid
because she had stripped them of every known lipid.
One day Red arrived to find Granny in bed.
“Come closer, my dumpling,” the dowager said.
Forget the lame cover-up tale that came later:
No wolf gobbled Red. It was Granny who ate her.