A Lovely Sunday Brunch
The angry bear
Creeps silently upon
Its prey.
The elderly woman is
Oblivious
To the danger afoot.
She could not hear the
Snap of twigs and
Rustle of bushes over
The roar of the river she
Was fishing her false teeth
Out of.
A roar of fury rips through the forest.
He chews her ANGRILY!
With his mouth open-
Which is bad manners, but,
He is a bear.
LOUD! Are the old woman’s bones
As they snap into thousands of
Tiny pieces, like
That gross peanut brittle nonsense
Your grandmother
Puts out in a little bowl at Christmas,
But it lies there eternally because
No one really likes peanut brittle.
The bear eats the old woman
Like SHE was peanut brittle-
Only, she isn’t peanut brittle,
She is an old woman.
If she was peanut brittle,
The bear would not eat her
In the first place.
I don’t like peanut brittle.
Neither do bears.
BEARS. EAT. BEETS.
…and old women.
The old woman cannot
Talk now, she is in the
Tummy of a bear.
But if she wasn’t, I’d
Ask her if
She was the kind of old woman who
Made peanut brittle
At Christmas.
If she said yes, then
I’d be happy that
The bear
Ate her.
Now the bear has had
His Sunday brunch, and
She can never make peanut brittle
Ever again.
I don’t like peanut brittle.
Neither do bears.
Peanut brittle.
