Do Not Feed the Bears.

My mind is corporate.
I speak little.
My heart is broken in two pieces.
Like shards of glass,
I take them out and throw them
down a well.

In Africa, they do not have water.
In Africa, the children have no shoes.
Think about your thoughts before you do
them.
Think about sorrow’s forbidden muse.

My friend is in the hospital
and has been for seven days straight.
They fixed his heart and lungs,
they fixed the arch in his forehead.

The sign outside reads "Do not feed the
bears."
Sometimes, I forget that part,
they are harmless as fleas.