Activists + > Literature > Poetry

Lil' Bear Cub
by Bruce Andrew Peters,
photography by: Bruce Andrew Peters

Lil' bear cub,

munches with ease.

Green apples all day,

in the trees.

Oh, we admire,

he's a climber who'll never tire.

That cute fuzzy boy,

what a joy!

Neither he - nor we - could ever see.

A pack of snarlin' dogs -

says the master: "Chase him up the tree!"

Scampers our lil' bear,

so scared he pees.

Not the mean, bad predator

some make 'em out to be.

Blast! Bellows the gun, a hole torn in his trunk,

our sweet cub's tortured.

If we could think, we woulda thunk:

No more happy days,

munching juicy apples in the sun.

No more grunting, rooting around the evergreen bunting.

No more children's cheers, to pet his soft, warm ears.

"I trusted those humans, friendship they were a fronting."

Claws that held like a steel jaw, melt like butter,

Whack! Goes one branch against the back,

then another.

An aching, sore, gasping heap,

this isn't a happy ending.

"That guy with the gun, he's a real creep!"

Everybody sees it this way.

Being on the wrong side of a gun,

that's no way to end the day!

A sniper's sniping,

creates a lot of griping!

Now the sniper's a "sportsman,"

licensed to kill,

just call it "hunting,"

that'll fit the bill!

Atlas the Pomeranian speaking at an animal rights conference

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