Feeding Gators Poem by Smoky Hoss

Sitting at the edge
of a long, old dock
watching the sun slowly fall asleep,
pondering life, while
tossing alligators small chunks of meat -
Non-poets always expect rhymes…
gators don't care at all;
neither take the time necessary to taste
the delicacy of what feeds them -
Both wear the vacant faces
of an opaque silence,
but how could they listen
when they don't know the language -
The great riddle
at the heart of existence is,
how we haven't yet all died from the famine
of our own obsessive gluttony -
I'm told, gators and non-poets alike
will soon converse with full wit and charm,
once the sun sets and the dock sinks into the sea,
but, it will take the sun to rise upon my drowning cries,
before they shall ever speak for and to me -