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Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.
His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
Billy Collins
Read poems about / on: autumn, sick, red, sun, warning
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8.6
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(67 votes) |
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Flames by Billy Collins)
Nathan Markowitz (11/13/2007 9:14:00 PM)
I think it's funny. I knew that smokey was a hipocrit. For all we know, he smokes. It just shows you what the world we live in is like. Oh well, we will figure out what to do with ourselves sooner or late.- Your critic, Nathan Markowitz |
Tired of Being Exploited (5/25/2007 1:03:00 PM)
Good ol' Smokey, it was just a metter of time before he'd snap. I wonder if Woodsy the owl is going along with it? |
Read all 3 comments >>
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