They don’t choose us
any more;
not now, not in the land of
free will.

When I choose the Alligator
he roars, 
“Son, your bloodlines are desert
on one side
and mountain on the other.
Not a bayou in sight so
how the hell did I become
your idea of a spirit animal?”  

I reply,
“Television, man.
It fucks up 
your locality,
morality, and
spirituality.  

But consider: as an Amurrican,
I bite on whatever’s 
offered
so it seemed
appropriate…”

Tail thrash, jaw snap.
Over his shoulder:

“C’mon, then…”