the bear would make a dandy rug

the bear sniffed the tree,
scratched at the old bark,
twisted loose a white grub,
and acted very macho with his red teeth.
he ate some early spring flowers,
sniffed a running doe,
sneered at a low flying eagle,
and shit over small blades of grass,
seeing that they were softly green but in need of other color.
he fancied himself a possibility!
he had no difficulty tearing into the earth:
his sharp claws were recently polished when he
evaded capture
by hiding inside a troll farm near St. Petersburg,
his identity disguised behind bad breath
and a fake accent filled with slavic vowels.
he whispered to one of the frustrated American hunters
"You can't catch me!"
and it wasn't the first time he narrowly escaped,
but this hunter wasn't nervous or sad.
he had heard similar words,
and they again fell on ears still listening
to The Battle Hymn Of The Republic
and bits of Abby Road by the Beatles.
only the lucky few who had knowledge of the
hunter's tools knew what he had planned:
the bear would make a dandy rug.