The Black Bear
11 December 2006
The black bear balanced on one paw reaching
up to pull the clothesline down to the ground,
when a little boy came running into the yard,
waving his arms, trying to catch the fly
ball serendipitously sent flying
over the maple tree and into the one yard
that had attracted the black bear.
His arms were mangled, blood splattered
on the rocky New England soil, barely covered
with grass, crab-grass, and scattered clothes,
sheets and towels, no longer clean.
You understand there is no logic to the logic
of the whirling dirvishes, the moments
strung together end over end.
Humans striving to comprehend
the who and what of why we are.
It's just that we hope not to be in the wrong yard
when the ball comes down and the bear turns around.
© 2006, Satya J. Gabriel