[Ann Drysdale]

Alexander Bear

I have a wondrous teddy bear, of monumental size,
with a round, protruding abdomen and little piggy eyes
and half a pair of trousers, and people stop and stare
when I go out a-walking with Alexander Bear.
He has a little jersey with a zip that shuts and opens
that he's been wearing since the days when clothing was on coupons.
His stuffing’s fast congealing and his shape is somewhat crude
and when you tip him upside-down the noise is rather rude,
so I tip him up in buses and I tip him up in trains
and everybody thinks it's me, so nobody complains.
His fur is non-existent and he’s really old and smelly
but without him I would be like two of eels without the jelly.
Whenever we have visitors my mother gets superior,
apologising right and left for him and his bacteria.
She says he’s unhygienic and she says he isn’t clean
and she says I ought to dump him ’cos I don’t know where he’s been.
She calls that valid reason, but it simply isn’t true –
wherever Alexander’s been, then I have been there too.
So we’ve reached a sort of stalemate, if you fathom what I’m saying –
“he goes,” I say, “and I go too.” So both of us are staying.
.