The Bear

Wed, 04/29/2020 - 21:24 -- DOTS

Dirty table, high chair, hungry bear

A mother eats her young, 

doesn’t anybody care?


You don’t know my reason,

It’s not the right way, not the right season.


She looked at me with an irreverent glare,

Which made me wanna turn around, disappear, and get the hell outta there.


You do this, I do that, it’s even Steven said the bear,

It’s easy to judge as you sit there unaware in your armchair. 


I wanted to be leaving

But I held my ground, and heard her out.

Though I wasn’t agreeing

it did help to ease my uneven breathing


The worlds not black and gray 

You can’t trust Mother Nature, tooth decay, or a tree that doesn’t topple over as its roots are cut away.


I suppose we are what tortoise is to the hare,

too far behind, left in the dust, don’t treat things fair.


Clean table, dinner chair, empty bear.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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