The Crocodile Year

A colossus in the currents

With claws drifting serenely down

And green-gold eyes

Seeing, but not revealing.

Try explaining to that grinning mouth

The merits of followers, likes on selfies,

And checking “just one more” work email.

We rush manically, frantically,

As though we’re expected at our funerals

Ten full years before the Reaper calls.

Planned days laid out like rows of teeth,

Waiting to draw blood if you deviate.

I’d prefer to be like one of them,

Contemplation in water, clarity on land,

Wrapped in the resting power of my being,

My existence enough to command respect,

Knowing when needed,

One strike will do.