Bear on the Stump
Considering the threadbare show of the U.S. Forest Circus,
the general lack of victuals and vision,
in fact, the whole unsavory state of the Union,
the bear resolves to eat his congressperson
or in the same civic spirit
run for office,
The Big One.
The bear
Grooms himself in a wallow, imagining a Democratic fund-raiser.
Dines on salmon; fancies himself a Republican.
Scruffs around under a log for termites and social media tips.
Agrees to "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" as his campaign song
sung al dente to the tune of
"I Did It My Way" or "On Top of Old Smokey"
(pending staff vetting of alignment with campaign position on geriatric sex).
Bids adieu to the chronic boredom of living among bosky ungulates.
Squeezes his privates until he yelps with sincerity
the right tone for network coverage.
Ponders his campaign slogan:
"A Bear of the People"
"Bearifest Destiny"
"Make America Bearable Again"
Settles on
"Bear with Me."
Breaks joyous wind upslope from the Baptist camp,
a bottoms-up on the separation of church and state.
Practices the right inflection for "My fellow critters."
Broods about his image:
The slander concerning his ties with Wall Street.
That garbage-dump incident at McKenzie Bridge.
And the Goldilocks business
though he now has a testimonial from the divine Ms. G.—
that little twit—
which should help him out with the fairy-tale caucus.
Announces Herbert Xavier J. Edgar Cougar as his running mate.
Though he has been advised to balance the ticket
with an invertebrate
the nation is not yet ready
for a literally spineless VP.
Relishes the headlines:
"Bear Scores Pols"
"Bear Touts Teeth for EPA"
"Ursus versus taxes: Bear Urges Budget Slash"
"Bear Promises Spring"
"Bear Baits Opponent"
"Omnivores Give Bear Nod"
Would proclaim himself king, promise a participatory monarchy,
but huckleberry diarrhea keeps him humble.
Posed in his den with the works of A.A. Milne
and the Reader's Digest condensed Constitution
prominently displayed,
grants an interview:
"My wit? The only thing more pungent is weasel piss."
Denies the quote.
Trips the light fantastic,
800 pounds of glee and gluttony, imagining graft.
Paws a Sierra Club groupie at a campaign bash.
Squints at the horizon, statesmanlike—
meals on wheels limos rolling up Pennsylvania Avenue—
planning a bipartisan menu for State dinners.
