It was summer and the rain was falling on the old green leaves when she came the first time, bear in hand, to ask for a cup of milk or sugar or something. And I said, What’s this a pet bear? And she looked at me quizzically, as if to say, Of course it is are you blind?
I reached down to touch its soft brown breathing fur and it growled, showing me its teeth and said, Careful for I have cracked bone and torn the flesh from leaping tabbies. Where I come from, you wouldn’t last five minutes. And where is that? I asked. And the bear said, Next door.
James Roome the poems