Bear Hunt

By | 1 November 2015

Bears pursue me
their button eyes
stitched in a factory
are cruel with the boredom
of their making

cuddling is futile,
these bears, born vengeful,
will not be deterred
they are under the doona
they are into my ears
they are inside my sleep.

They are soft police
gone vigilante, egging my
creaking sleep criminal,
as I beat to pulp
(do you ever dream in noir?)
the intruders creeping in
to steal my child.

night after night after night
I am woken by the
clench of cortisol
and the shame of things
I can’t explain:

the hot frustration of my heart,
an impotence from long ago,
grown narrative tumours,
to defend the origin from cure.

Inside my pounding
outside is quiet
the children are serene
I am unworthy of their innocence
until the grit subsides.

The bears cast their cold eyes
it is crowded where they come from,
the days are long – and who can afford
to waste their rest
like this.

I almost detect a cruel smile,
as if my grinding teeth and paranoia
were coffee and donuts
on the long watch until
they slip back undercovers
where their girl will love them
with her best pretend

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