The Donut Bears

I entered a 34-mile running race today

but stopped at mile 4.

An old ankle injury; swells

curl before the shore.

I ran back to the start

but the fire was green, guttering

so I limped in to The

Royal Oak country store. Chris,

a sweet man, his eyes, nearly

always blinking, never, in 2 hours, closed.

We talked of marathoners & thru

hikers. String Bean & The

Flying Scotsman. Heart attacks

& the many cavities of donut bears.

Poor, hard-off, donut bears. Turns out,

baiters snatch them from the factory,

fill their trucks sky high & dump

them up in the thick. Weeks

later, local townsfolk complain

of swollen-moody bears

their bloodshot eyes

& mouthfuls of rotting teeth.

The donut bears, tapping out

ride symbol jazz rhythms

on fogged up kitchen windows.

Somewhere, a tireless taxidermist.

I failed at running today, but shucks,

Chris & the donut bears

do not care.