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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.

by Billy Collins

Comments (8)

Poodles love water.
You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain
Mr. Collins I love your work...I have dog eared all of your books that we have in my Wilton library. It ain't Alexandria but hasn't burnt down so if I see smokey in town I'll dial 911. Love this
I always did like Smokey the Bear and now I like him more! Great poem.
Funny and cute.....
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