We all have that special teddy bear that you cherish.
I thought I found a lovely one the other day at a friends house. Turns out it wasn’t the bear for me..
Its fuzzy fur and cosy cuddle
was made to keep a child warm.
It has two hard black eyes like onyx pebbles,
strays of fur and cotton tassels.
But there is something malodorous and potent
woven within every last fabric remnant.
Clumps of crusted coat are tarnished
from their gallant adventures to which it perished.
But, it was not until I gave it a squeeze,
That I realised, with much unease,
Perhaps this bear was not for me.
Its high pitched squeak and wail,
Its torn and chewed up tail,
its pelt, all worn and pale.
A squeaky toy for the dog to tear.
A squeaky toy that I thought was a teddy bear.