A Drunken Bear Gets in My Bed and Eats Beets

A bear in my bed thrashes the sheets;

he eats from a basket of beets.

He asks me for a pack of smokes,

my strongest whiskey, and a flask

of prize-winning honey.

I stand in the doorway in my finest

leather jacket. A motorcycle helmet

in my paws. I ask this bear:

"Who the hell are you and what the hell

are you doing in my bed?"

The bear rolls on his back. He says:

"Come, pet my belly. Once you pet my belly

everything will become clear."

I threw my motorcycle helmet at the bear.

I pulled out my gun and shot him:

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He rolled to his side. Pouted. Put his

head on his claw. He says to me:

"What the hell did you do that for?

Don't you know I'm your master?"

The bullets did nothing to him. He pulled

out a harness. He told me since I didn't have

smokes, strong whiskey, or honey that it was time

to go to the store. He put the harness on himself.

He says to me:

"Get on my back, you doofus."

So I rode the bear all the way to the store.

We went past the woods with Little Red Riding Hood

and the Big Bad Wolf. We went past the woods

mentioned in a dozen or so Christmas songs.

When we got to the store, the bear

pissed in several aisles. He sideswiped shelves

and cans would fall into our cart.

People screamed and ran out of the store.

Some people wanted selfies with the bear.

Some people acted like it was just

an ordinary day.

He put on sunglasses and strutted to the cashier.

He put all his cans on the grocery conveyer belt;

out of consideration for others, he put the checkout divider

behind his food.

The cashier backed away. Police officers burst

into the store. Sirens blaring. Guns

pointed at the bear.

Red laser beams on his body and mine too.

I, for whatever reason, couldn't stop

wagging my tail.

The bear sat down to eat some beets.

He says to me:

"Things are about to get really weird."

The bear got bigger in size. His fur turned bright

red, like the beets he liked to eat. He overtook

the store. His head popped out the ceiling.

The police looked like ants. The bear

was carrying me on his shoulder. He got so big,

and he was flying. He was as fast as a SpaceX

rocket. I howled, and we went to the moon.

We built ourselves a cabin. We made ourselves home.

We read books by the fireplace, we flew kites

in the backyard, we'd play fetch and tug-of-war,

we met aliens at the hot tub.

One day I find him in my bedroom.

A bear in my bed thrashes the sheets;

he eats from a basket of beets.

He asks me for a pack of smokes,

my strongest whiskey, and a flask

of prize-winning honey.