Poem On: Day 14

Ursaring (#217)

We woke the great bear,
as children must. A joke
at first, soft berry lobbed
past its snout, a poke tease
with a yardlong birch branch,
then again, then harder, and
who can say exactly when
game turned to mission?
The thick, breathing hill
owed us audience. His dreams
were an insult. Shouts and shakes
now, dogged as a mother’s on
a frosted school morning.
Something worked. His rise
wrung sound from the air.
Eyed us awake like a drill sergeant.
All we could do
was tremble and stare
at the wide circle on his bellyfur,
endless shape taunting our end,
the steering wheel we’d never grasp,
the wedding ring we’d never take.
He thought a little of us, yawned,
something like a sneeze, and
returned to his heap. We left
as children must, adrenaline
for a moral, the story fat
and just starting hibernation.