It must be confusing
to lie down every night
not sure if you were going to be with
the man or the bear.
Sure, he's always been a man by night,
but then he's a bear by day,
with those big, sad, polar eyes,
still trying to control his massive limbs
like he's the master of his own destiny.
And yet you find those white hairs
on your good clean sheets,
on your silk pajamas,
mingled in your morning tea,
which is always waiting,
hot and steaming,
despite the fact he can't carry it in his paws.
And he watches you dressing yourself,
pulling on layer after layer, wool and wire,
because he shoots the cold
right through you,
with a nuzzle of his nose.
And he never has to dress, though at night
you can feel his skin,
and the goosebumps that line his humanity.
It must be confusing,
to lie there at night,
hoping he'll be the bear,
coming to eat you alive.