THE CURRENCY OF BEARS - ANTHONY WATKINS

There are no bears in the money. There are eagles and lions and the queen.
The Tigris and the Euphrates whose stripes change ever so slowly.

The bear sits in the market place.
In an alley cafe, reading the Financial  Times while drinking coffee now on the queen. She glitters like she is, while the Tigris shines like gold and silver and the big cats stalk the thirsty antelope.

And the antelope has no money but waits in the ante room, waiting for its anti-life to end. And the tranquilizer dart takes down the cat, and the dear little deer darts away, to live another day, for there are no bears by the river. There are no bears in the money which the antelope does not have, or does not carry.

My parents friend had a Dodge Dart, back when they were tiny and covered wrinkled sheet metal.
Back when I was tiny. The friend is long dead and
I am covered with wrinkles. And the Dodge dart is back for a third time around.

The bear finishes his croissant, and lumber off, for a bear will and ever dart. And he cannot drive except price down. Prices of pork bellies and timber and silver and gold. He bears no currency only money and there are no bears in the money.