Saturday’s bear
arrived two days after your dog
treed a smaller bear in the oak
at the bend in the driveway.
You could not be described as unconcerned
since, after all, the dog ignored your call to come
and you had no weapon
Not even a pocket knife, you said.
Still, there was a thread of excitement
in your voice as you told me.
Saturday’s bear was bigger
and, importantly for this story, farther away.
When I first spotted it, you estimated for me
in hundreds of yards—three, maybe four.
What I love wasn’t that he didn’t notice us
or that the dogs didn’t notice him.
It wasn’t even that I felt safe beside you
knowing you would shoot it if you had to,
if it came for us. Though I was glad.
None of that is what I love.
It was that you burst into song
And it was the Jungle Book,
Bare Necessities.
It was that you knew all the words
and sang them for me.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 