Monday, August 31, 2009

He's Da Boss




What is it?

It sounds like a two hundred and twenty-five horsepower outboard at wide open throttle.

What is it?

If you were a lady alligator you'd know what it is. It’s the sound of spring. Bull Gator is talking to the ladies. All thirteen feet and fourteen hundred pounds of that bad boy is hollering --get your tails over here, it’s springtime; I’m horny.


Coquettish lady gators slip from their dens and swim the pond looking their sexy prettiest. Bull Gator looks them over. They are, in his pea brained estimation, a fine looking bunch of femmes. Several six footers, an eight footer, and one hot mama of a ten footer covered with moss and mud. Mmmmm-Mmmmm, the Pamela Anderson of Gators. Man, just look at her rough hide and snaggle teeth. Bull Gator swims over toward where she lies at the pond’s edge.

A young male spots Pamela Gator at about the same time as Bull. The young one comes toward her from the opposite bank.


Fair warning from Bull who sees his rival. The young male keeps coming. A mistake. Bull , like a torpedo, meets him in the middle of the pond. Bull snaps his massive jaw down on the young male’s shoulder. He wrenchs and twists. The young male thrashs wildly attempting to free himself from Bull’s jaws. The water erupts in a white froth that quickly recolors to pink. The thrashing goes on for a quarter of an hour. Finally, the young male, now three legged, pulls free and swims away from Bull. Bull spits out alligator gristle and hide, smiles, and, blood slicked, continues on toward Pamela.


Now, springtime alligator sex is much like the fight described in the paragraph above, so, like a Victorian, this narrator is satisfied to simply say Bull and Pamela did the deed. Fade to black.

Late autumn. A great blue heron settles at the edge of the pond intent on a silvery minnow breakfast. The huge bird stares intently at the water. Patience will, as always, bring rewards. Suddenly, the water erupts. Bull Gator launches like a submarine’s rocket from below the surface. Feathers fly. The great blue lives no more. Bull Gator with the heron's carcass clamped between his teeth slides back into the water. He’ll stuff the bird's flesh and bones in the hole with the remains of the ripening deer and go back to his den. Winter is coming on and its time to lay up comestibles and den up until springs warmth calls. Bull's year has been good. Tore a leg off a rival. Nailed Pamela. Watched her incubate the eggs. Witnessed the birth of his new brood. Ate ten of Pamela’s twelve hatchlings. The only down part of the year was getting his tail bitten by a pissed off Pamela. But, hell, that healed. Yes Sir, a very good year.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Two Words

A Short Poem
On A Weighty
Topic That
Sheds Light
Upon All That
Comes Down Upon
In Matter
Of Fact
Affects Each
And Every One
Of Us
With Dire
From Which
We Cannot



Thursday, August 27, 2009


Ain’ Getting’ Too Damn Close

There’s a gator in the pond outside my door’,
he’s a big old bull , king of the space he owns;
he’s been around here since I don’t know when
seems that he’s been here since time began

Yellow eyes watch me closely
from just above green duckweed cover
while the rest of that big old boy
lies hidden under dead still water

Prey is what’s on Gator’s pea brain
honed to that one thought by time
he’d like to stuff me in his den to ripen,
if not me my dog will do just fine

He’s quite a creature that old bull gator,
lying there so still, stalking unwary creatures;
he’s fascinating, well worth some close study,
but believe me you, I ain’ gettin’ too damn close