Me and the Bear
In my sleep I move as in a video game,
The world moves around me,
Panning left and right, up and down.
The world comes to a stop in my writing den.
Where the bear hugs a laptop to its chest,
And refuses to take another step.
Sitting in his usual posture,
Bear legs flopped over, claws grown long,
Floating in the air above my head.
I am very in my mind.
Talking to the bear about the work ahead of us.
Listening to his snuffling grunts.
Two parallel scratches mark my writing hand,
Red wounds with pink edges,
Which I examine with wonder.
How did this happen?
The bear sips his coffee and grins.
Not a metaphor for anything, but a bear.
Comments
Post a Comment