See how now the little crocodile spends its day
glistening ridges of armor cooled beneath the light of another humid noon
eyes merely hazed to the rest of the world
gathering the light.
There is something smug about him
while still he wallows in the muck and thinks nothing more about it
something knowing in that lazy countenance
a secret smile.
Sliding into the mire as the swamp hums all around
disappearing into nothing
claiming the chill.
The heron arches its neck from the water with a glistening prize
The crocodile beckons it back under
It makes a very convincing argument.
Who, after all, could resist such a charming smile?
