Bookseller Dante, well-read and our friend,
Had carried a secret, could only pretend
That he had no ill-will, no desire to end
The bear in his bookstore in Brooklyn.
Now Bear loved the kids books, and he’d held his own
On the floor from day one. His stature had grown.
His own sort of vanguard of sales, he was known
As the bear in the bookstore of Brooklyn.
When plague came upon us, a COVID outpouring,
You’d think he’d have changed his routine, in good sporting.
But Bear kept on beckoning, hugging, absorbing
The love of the children of Brooklyn.
We were in lockdown, but Bear had got flaunty
Hugging kids, spreading those germs in flagrante.
That was the final countdown for Dante
As well for our old Bear of Brooklyn.
Unwashedness pushed Bear right to the ledge
Of cleanliness. Dante watched, thoroughly incredg’,
Like Anthony Hopkins, his very own Edge.
“I’m gonna KILL THE BEAR, in Brooklyn!”
His moment had come! It’s time Bear had died!
He stepped on the floor to claim his foul hide.
An ultimate shadow, not long to abide
By this filthy old bear in Brooklyn.
“Get in the bag” he said, “I’ve had enough.
Consider this merely an altr’istic snuff”
As he opened the plastic and stuffed in the scruff
Of that filthy old bear of Brooklyn.
Bear was surprised by this sudden abduction.
He pleaded to move his fate to discussion.
“No” answered Dante. “You’re way too disgustin’
And I’m kicking you straight out of Brooklyn
To the still river waters of Brooklyn.
You’re a filthy old bear in Brooklyn!”