Fridge Gator

She’s at the fridge.
We steal a glance,
Crack a smile.
She doesn’t know
What’s soon coming;
Can’t say the same
About us though –
It’s part of the game.

Eyes buried in book,
Your normal act,
The perfect hook.
Your setup is clean;
A prank like this,
It’s all routine –
Your forever trapped
In a submarine.

Now she grabs
For the handle,
Your eyes light up
Like a candle;
She only thinks
It’s time to feed –
Time for our gator
To do its deed.

The door gives way,
White monster attacks –
Pulled by the string
Of creative knacks.
A jump and scream
Could never bring
More native a ring
To your unending schemes.

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About gnarlyoak

"Nestled sporadically over great and endless knolls, devoid of life during dry summer months, the oak trees of Los Altos Hills – so numerous around my home – speak to me in an unheard language. Like any person I am the sum of my successes and failures but unlike the masses I have heard the language of the oaks – I found meaning in their forgotten voice." - Song of the Oak
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2 Responses to Fridge Gator

  1. Belle says:

    Your dreaming – no scream (ha, ha)

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