Hunting the alligator

Perched on a ledge,
I watched from the edge
of the slow moving, brown river,
scanning for a telltale quiver,
a slight ripple of light
to prove his move —

unlike the heron, skinny-legged and lean,
stepping with care in open air, its hunger keen,
its glance oblique over a long, set beak,
pacing the lapping, salty water
stalking a single, silver slaughter —

no, all teeth and claws
this silent dragon was,
all scales and slinking,
periscoped, unblinking,
of terrible length and yet
imperceptible in the wet —

a sudden splash
belied his dash,
a trap, a trick,
unbelievably quick,
a fast snap and swish,
death for a school of fish.





























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