Reggie came by post, a swap. So little
in his duffle coat, and loveable, most of all
for his high-pitched, child-like voice, and the way
he said his name was ‘Weggie.’ He was white,
a polar bear, unusual in a toy.
Charlie had been loved more; his yellow fur
was worn. He was a bare bear in a box
of scruffy Beanies at the Christmas Fayre.
We couldn’t tell his mood; he had no mouth
but looked cold and bedraggled, so a trip
to Bear Essentials was arranged, where Charlie
chose a green T-shirt with ‘Good Luck!’ on the front.
Charlie’s voice was low and slow. His lack of mouth
did not prevent long discourses with Reg
and every day they’d wait beside the window
to see their friends come home. At six o’clock
they’d join us at the table, quite content
to eat small morsels from each dinner plate.
After, they’d fall silent when their voices
would go to their computers to engage
in swordfights with imaginary foes
oblivious to the lonely bears below.
First published in Reach Poetry