by William Matthews

    Amidst the too much that we buy and throw

    away and the far too much we wrap it in，

    the bear found a few items of special

    interest——a honeydew rind， a used tampon，

    the bone from a leg of lamb. He'd rock back

    lightly onto his rear paws and slash¹

    open a plastic bag， and then his nose——

    jammed almost with a surfeit² of rank

    and likely information， for he would pause——

    and then his whole dowsing snout would

    insinuate³ itself a little way

    inside. By now he'd have hunched⁴ his weight

    forward slightly， and then he'd snatch it back，

    trailed by some tidbit in his teeth. He'd look

    around. What a good boy am he.

    The guardian⁵ of the dump was used

    to this and not amused. "He'll drag that shit

    every which damn way，" he grumbled⁶

    who'd dozed⁷ and scraped a pit to keep that shit

    where the town paid to contain it.

    The others of us looked and looked. "City

    folks like you don't get to see this often，"

    one year-round resident accused me.

    Some winter I'll bring him down to learn

    to love a rat working a length of subway

    track. "Nope，" I replied. Just then the bear

    decamped for the woods with a marl of grease

    and slather in his mouth and on his snout，

    picking up speed， not cute （nor had he been

    cute before， slavering with greed， his weight

    all sunk to his seated rump and his nose stuck

    up to sift⁸ the rich and fetid air， shaped

    like a huge， furry⁹ pear）， but richly

    fed on the slow-simmering dump， and gone

    into the bug-thick woods and anecdote¹⁰.