Salty Goodness 

By Emma Grantland  
 

The Foul Hand,  

if only my lid 

were super glued 

shut. Then  

your sweaty palms 

would have no way 

to enter. Every time 

you take another,  

you are closer and  

closer to finding me.  

My salty friends 

didn’t stand a chance,  

but I won’t go  

down without  

A fight. The last  

time you came  

you brought 

your own army,  

devouring us all,  

one by one. First 

A blue, then a  

green. What other 

colors could fingers  

be? But when you  

get to me, your 

army will stand 

down. Even if  

you pull  

and pull 

I will  

never give in.  

You swallowed  

the rest of  

my friends. 

I won’t 

let it  

happen  

to me.