A Lovely Sunday Brunch

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.