Treed
June 20 2009


The dogs treed it,
black claws scraping bark.
He was surprisingly agile,
scampering up like a heavy-weight wrestler
gone to fat.

Arms and legs hug the trunk
clinging as tight as a frightened cub,
immoveable.

The dogs bark maniacally
triumphant, intense,
springing up
inciting each other.
All it takes is 3 dogs to make a pack,
turning pets
into wolves, and jackals.

I call them off,
dragging the big black one by its collar.
The blood-lust of dogs
when bear’s in the air,
reeking so bad
even I catch it.

He was a juvenile, kind of small;
his first encounter with man.
And I knew
he wouldn’t be back.

The dogs were rewarded
with table scraps,
fish, freshly caught.

I wonder if he’s climbed back down
by now.