The last bear lives in my basement.
I feed him drugged squirrels,
Sunday potluck leftovers,
A very occasional honey pot.
He misses the woods, I know,
But they’re not safe anymore.
The priests with their bulldozers
Clear space, clear space, clear space.
I think he may be depressed.
He watches TV all day,
Channel-surfing with one shiny claw.
He especially likes the Food Network.
The last bear lives in my basement.
He misses the woods, I know.
I think he may be depressed.
I’d better recheck the lock tonight.
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