February 7, 2011

I want to be a bear:

a dense white house of a polar bear –
hunkered down on an icy lake,
with my back
like a carpet coated snowed on roof

I want to think of fish
and seals
and where to find
the thinnest panes
of ice.

I want to think of sun
and snow
and Inuits
and eskimos

I want to be a Bear
that does not care
about the 7 signs of
cosmetic aging

a polar bear
with a large black nose
like a bowl of tar
and no aversion
to the notion of
enlarged paws

I want to be a Polar Bear
with a black rubber skin
and a weight problem –
that is not
a weight problem;

heavier than a four by four and
capable of crushing cars.

I want to weigh 1000 pounds
and be eleven feet tall

I want my fur to stink
of blood and sweat
and musk and the north

and for it to be thick
and long and coarse
and for Immac
to be irrelevant.

I want to be a bear
that does not care
for panda eyes
pandas are racoons
they have no family ties

I don’t want to be a dog
and dry hump the sofa
I don’t want to be a goldfish
a total no hoper
I don’t want to be a gofer
a horse, a cat or a bird

I want to be a bear:

a great white van of a polar bear.

I don’t want to buy face cream.

I don’t want to read Cosmo.

I want to have webbed feet.

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