Originally posted 5/9/2013.

After a short quest
best described as 
mythopoetic channel surfing, 
I choose the Alligator.

At first, he refuses. 
He roars his displeasure
like a reptilian Foghorn Leghorn.

“Son, your bloodlines are desert on one side
and mountain on the other. 
Not a bayou in sight.
How the hell did I become
your idea of a spirit animal?”  

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

But consider this:
I’m ‘murrican,
born and bred
to bite and swallow
whatever’s offered.”

Tail thrash,
jaw clap. He turns away.

Grunts back over
his shoulder:

“C’mon, then…”