The hot, viscous
air, flows across my sweat soaked face.
Running my tongue across my front two teeth
finds, a jagged june bug leg entangled by my
silver tooth, shoulda shut my mouth.
Tying my trusty bandana adorned with the good ol’
US of A stars and stripes, to keep the sweaty strips of  hair off my face.
The war paint of the
swamp, gets slathered onto
my nose, like I’ve done a million times before.
As I swat at the Florida state
birds, swarming by my
right ear, a ripple in the murky water catches my eye.
The hair on my back
stands on end, like a  platoon of soldiers.
I lock eyes with it’s sinister
soul, my hand instinctively unsheathes my
bowie knife, my body then lunges toward the beast. 
Acting on instinct equal to the creature itself I strike with full force. 
In the next fraction of a
second,  I stab deeper and
deeper, into the green scaly skin.
He collapses in my
arms, as I hear his last breath.
Tonight we
get, gator soup.