Dancing Bears

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I had seen more dancing bears before I ever saw my first golf-course. I mean real golf-courses, not miniature golf.  And I mean real dancing bears, not something off of a Grateful Dead bumper sticker.

In the market in Lahore there was a Pashtun wearing dirty perahan wa tunban with a long grey vest and lungee, on his feet Pathan sandals, by his side marched a muzzled sun-bear with chain collar and long chain dangling from his master’s hand, arms entwined behind his back.  Very cavalier for a man with a bear.  For a few rupees he would make the bear twirl on his hide legs, paws in the air.

The Russian circus came to town before I had even learned to drag a camera about.  Their bears where brown, large and un-muzzled.  I remember the red vests the trainers wore, very striking.

It was not too many years later that I discovered my first golf-course in the middle of the night.  But I never learned to play.  I did learn that high school children liked to drink beer there, smoke dope, and hook up.  I imagine that college age people did to, probably for nostalgia sake.  You could find the empty green bottles, empty baggies, and occasional condom.   By then I had learned about grizzly bears, and black bears, Kodiak bears, and the extinct golden bears of California, and the great bear of Russia.

There is a wicker basket in the corner of where I live.  It used to be used for laundry; it is now used for balls.  All those nights and days wandering around avoiding the bears, the cougars, the skunks, walking by tennis courts, golf-courses, picking up lost balls.  My father played golf, but I do not remember him doing so.  There was a golf bag in his effects.  I took home the bucket of balls for the basket, my brother took home the clubs.  I learned to juggle.

This was all B.C., before Caddyshack.  Those were good years, B.C. I was younger and it was fun to find empty ground without people.  It was even more fun after Caddyshack.  “Biggest wastes of real estate, golf-courses and cemeteries” spouts the developer played by Rodney Dangerfield.  I took it to heart and was happy.  Cemeteries and golf-courses were keeping the world a little nicer because they were keeping the ground out of the hands of real estate developers.  I could watch the edges of towns blur the country, but the cemeteries and golf-courses were still safe at night.  I could wander around avoiding the cougars, skunks, and bears.

But now it is A.D., after Donald.  I try not to go near golf-courses.  They have become bad places, not preserving the ground from developers.  They are the playground of developers.  They are the place you go to look at the kleptocrats, to emulate the kleptocrats.  They are pretty like the gold souq of Dubai, or the frankencastles on the hills with well-manicured lawns and gardens.  I do not go there at night anymore, because I am afraid of the great bear.  He is no longer tied to Polaris.

That leaves me the graveyards at night.  I pass them in the daytime; they are getting busier, new holes, new mourners.   Night is the only time they seem at rest.

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About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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