Garbage Run
April 6 2022
How dispiriting
are the garbage dump bears.
To see such noble creatures
growing fat and feckless
on the rotting excess
of our prodigious waste.
They lumber about,
grease-stained and insatiable
on a sugar high,
oblivious
to the complacent people
who come from cleaning house,
the resourceful gleaners
searching for treasure
amidst the trash.
To the rubberneckers
there to gawk,
because wild animals
are easy to romanticize.
And to those who despise
these habituated bears
as dirty and decadent,
not to mention
the ever-present danger
of being eaten alive.
Cubs
as fat as little dumplings
toddle along,
attached to their mothers
as if by a short strong leash.
They have learned to dumpster-dive, as well,
and will grow up
knowing only this,
not foraging or hunting
or even fear of men.
This is how culture works
and how we also learn;
mother to daughter
daughter to son.
How undignified they seem,
pawing through the steaming piles
of spoiled kitchen waste
and out-of-date food.
Along with mercenary gulls
squabbling over scraps,
the scurrying rats
we know must be there.
As close to nature
as most of us get.
Not personal experience. No dump runs for me: garbage men pick it up once a week from the end of my driveway and it magically disappears. But I was just listening to a story about a bear marauding through a campsite pursued by park rangers, and this image came to mind.
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