The Cold Warrior Bears

I am drunk. I am George Kennan.
I am drunk at 5,000 feet,
spitefully drunk on Stolichnaya.
Seat belt fastened, Delta wings took dip.
Through haze, I see SWB runway,
and four bears who climbed timber ledge,
crawled beneath airport perimeter fence.
This can not be, can not be.
Nothing so stupid encroach US airports.

I warned short and shapely stewardess
about bear sighting,
she’s polite, convinced I had “too many,”
sensed forbidden desire to enter erogenous zone.
My drinks cut, landing gear goes down,
her hair’s jet black, what a terrorist witch!

Safe upon Homeland tarmac,
four Russian bear carcasses lay on ground.
I’m drunk, let me count again?
One mother, three cubs… stupid creatures,
they looked malleable and innocent enough,
security fence meant less (to them) than Berlin Wall.

Time to disembark,
Mr. Gromyko, in row ahead
reached for carry-bag, he said,
“Regrettably, someone liquidated those fuckin’
creatures, Mister Kennan.”
O yea – I said, and turned diplomatically away.
Someone else must have seen the hazard,
contacted NORAD in nick of time?
And I am drunk, so Katyn Forest drunk.

Bears never grasp notion
of trespassing upon airport property.
SWB International not Smokey the Bear land,
and Agent Goldilocks dare not enter grizzly lair.
Satisfied, I sing “Time it was, and was a time…
a time of innocence.”1
The bear family dance no more through
Glenmaura National Golf Club security.
Black skin rugs lay perfect upon SWB floor,
Gromyko and I patiently await luggage,
conveyor belt passed by, Grr! Grr!
Why hell, Mr. Gromyko,
couldn’t they just beat the shit out of bears,
throw wide net around them?
“Look here Comrade Kennan,
did Delta serve you bad meat in flight?
Containment plans exist no more.”

The cower hour, I am drunk, so biped drunk,
Blood Alcohol Content level, 1.00%.
No more Nixon-Agnew detente years,
Prada travel bag stuffed with unpaid bills,
I need fence opening, cram bare ass below,
run race against Vs of geese, a 747,
shoot self-to-kill before authorities do,
“a time of innocence,” last licks of honey.

(Authors Note: On the morning of October 20, 2014, a family of wandering black bears were observed crossing the perimeter fence of Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport and shot and killed. Pennsylvania Game Commission information-supervisor, Mr. Bill Williams, indicated an immediate threat existed to airport customers and “certainly an urgency to eliminate the problem soon as possible.” Estimated accuracy distance, ten Burr-Hamilton paces, I wonder if a Safari blowgun was SWB weapon of choice?)

  1. Line taken from Simon and Garfunkel beautiful song, Bookends. []

Charles Orloski lives in Taylor, Pa. He can be reached at: ChucktheZek@aol.com. . Read other articles by Charles.