November 19, 2015 § 1 Comment

bear in the atrium

moth eaten 

depressed I think

how has he held his composure 

throughout these many years

I can’t fathom 

I’m sure he would like nothing more

than to clamp down on the head

of one of the numberless piss ants

that poke at his pedestaled legs

and feign horror before his towering 

his claws would easily make

ribbon work of the wheezing 

guard who takes quick hits from

his flask sitting at his feet
the least the prop department could do is to put a replica of a wild blueberry bush in his sight line

one just like the one he was

sampling that morning 

a brave contractor 

shouldered his rifle and adjusted his sight for a two hundred yard shot

with a ten mile an hour cross breeze 
this is his lot

and he handles it with grace
in a reflection from glass of the Arctic diorama across the room

he notices the snow starting to fall

behind him
he sighs and dreams of hibernation 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 


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