Alligators snap at feet of witless giants.
Sandhill cranes swoop in, squawking
their staccato poems from the Beat generation.
Coral snakes & cottonmouths
set up kissing booths at fairs.
I’ve seen none of it, though I’ve looked.
My stepmother makes vague excuses
about the end of mating season,
crisp trimmed lawns in a gated community,
Where are those cranes?
I ask the silent window but see one tee
of a golf course
waiting for tournament women to play through,
those also absent.
I’m satisfied with searching,
sure beasts loiter on another street,
glide by tooth-first in a nearby pond.
Ace Boggess is author of three books of poetry, most recently Ultra Deep Field (Brick Road, 2017), and the novel A Song Without a Melody (Hyperborea, 2016). He is an ex-con, ex-reporter, ex-husband, and exhausted by all the things he isn’t anymore. His poetry has
appeared in Harvard Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and many other journals. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.