- Michelle Deines
The Polar Bear Exhibit
When the bear was alive,
seagulls nipped the fingertips of children
and the throng pressed itself paperthin
against the rail.
But it just sat there
on the concrete slab
snout resting on the granite-hard crust,
eyes closed,
damp fur the colour of urine.
The sun cooked a half-eaten fish,
head still attached
to the ladder of ribs.
At the underwater window,
children whined and pounded the plexiglass,
scoured the chlorined blue
for any kind of spectacle,
Where’s the bear? I want to see the bear!
Then a bear would swim up to the glass
and the children screamed
and everyone stood back to gaze
at this monster, the swimming mammoth.
White fur swayed like seaweed,
paws churned the water,
muscle, bone, claw,
black eyes looked through
the beautiful murk
straight at them.
Now the habitat is deserted,
screened from the rest of the park
by sections of metal fence
that do not join.
Leaves fill the contours of concrete,
moss amasses in shadows
while the plaque remains,
Polar Bears Presented
Stanley Park Zoo
June 1962.
At the bottom of what was once
the pool lies
an old mattress, sunken
like a mouth without teeth.