The Currency of Bears

(a word of caution: I have been studying modern poetry through Coursera at the University of Pennsylvania, under the direction of Al Filreis, for the past two years, and have been greatly influenced by Gertrude Stein. Stein wrote dense complicated poetry that explored the internal connections of words. This poem is more or less in her style, but sadly, probably not to her level. Never fear, most of my poetry is still somewhat more conventional than this one.)

There are no bears in the money. There are eagles and lions and tigers, and the queen. The Tigris and the Euphrates whose stripes change ever so slowly. The bear sits in the market place. In an alley café, reading the Financial Times while drinking coffee in the sunshine ever so slowly. The sun shines now on the queen. She glitters like she is, while the Tigris shines like gold and silver and the big cats stalk the thirsty antelope. And the antelope has no money but waits in the ante room, waiting for its anti-life to end. And the tranquilizer dart takes down the cat, and the dear little deer darts away, to live another day, to die another day, for there are no bears by the river. There are no bears in the money which the antelope does not have, or does not carry. My parents’ friend had a Dodge Dart, back when they were tiny and covered with wrinkled sheet metal. Back when I was tiny. The friend is long dead and I am covered with wrinkles. And the Dodge dart is back for a third time around. The bear finishes his croissant, and lumbers off, for a bear will never dart. And he cannot drive except prices down. Prices of pork bellies and timber and silver and gold. He bears no currency only money and there are no bears in the money.