The Starving Bear
The starving bear
turns over trash cans, tips the dumpsters,
learns how to eat away their lids
like scooping out a honey tree.
For one who’s used to
excavating logs and eating the results
a limp french fry is only
a slower kind of worm.
Dancing with debris,
dodging the tranquilizer dart,
he makes chaos out of order,
scavenge out of substance.
No berries, no salmon; he tears the soft
white sacks, scatters maggots like rosebuds
in the famine processional of maniac summer
at the feet of his bridesmaid crows.
Sometimes he screws the pooch.
but she knows better than to growl;
it’s an easy mistake to make
after all, and better screwed than food.
She will get
her dinner tonight.
But the starving bear
must feed himself.
Image: courtesy google image search