By Wesley Houp
Some really awful shit
written about bears.
Not a sentence
but an arctic river
fed by calves
of glaciers named
for 19th century explorers
killed by bears.
My bear story
Includes Katja
the Canadian ranger
who shot the bear
of my story.
It’s my fault.
Flatheaded Dutchmen
weren’t designed
for trout fishing
on the continental divide.
I don’t care
how fast you can run
or how still you can stand.
You can be a mime,
the golden statue
of New Orleans,
but a hungry grizzly male
will bust your ass
in a thousand pulsing rivulets.
Take it from me:
that Dolly Varden
rotting in the pebbled shallows
is you.
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