Bear In My House

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There's a bear in my house

and he won't leave.

He's eating my food,

made a nest for himself

out of leaves and branches 

dragged in from the woods.

I try chasing him away,

he's gone for a few days

and we feel safe,

but he always returns

because the house is warm,

the kitchen's well stocked,

and he knows the place.

In my house he lives 

in the half-hidden space

above the stairs.

He's not a huge bear,

but big enough 

to tear me to pieces 

if he wants to.

He's not an angry bear, 

but I've seen him get angry.

When I'm lying in bed at night

I smell his fur,

hear him munch and slurp

(on God-knows-what 

he's always eating something)

and I hear his heavy breath, 

his grunts and moans

when he's sated.

In the morning

I can't go to work without 

thinking about the bear,

whether he's still there

in my house,

or gone, and if he'll come back,

and I think about my wife

if she's safe at home alone,

all day long,

and who

she's been fucking,

I need a gun.