Sewer Gators (Prose Poem)

I began raising alligators in the city sewers after I was passed over for the big promotion at work.
I worked hard for that big promotion, coming in early and staying late, but the boss gave it to some gal with an MBA who was still wet behind the ears. That disgusted me so much I decided to explore the gig economy for a way to be my own boss and quit my now-disappointing day job.
First I tried rhubarb-based meat products -- rhubarb salami, rhubarb hamburgers, rhubarb roasts. But it didn't catch on. Mostly because you have to add too much gluten starch to the cooked rhubarb to keep it from turning into mush.
Besides, rhubarb is actually pretty expensive -- not a lot of people grow it commercially anymore. My rhubarb steaks were running around twenty-dollars a pound.
Then I took some time off from work (I had accrued lots of vacation time cuz I never took any time off when I was aiming for that promotion I never got) to lead a team of intrepid explorers into the teeth of the Pacific Trash Vortex. We outfitted an old banana boat and sailed into the middle of the Western Gyre, looking for discarded currency and jewelry. We didn't find squat. And I lost four good men to treacherous plastic six pack rings.
Need I mention I also lost all of my 401(K), which I had cashed out to finance the expedition? So now I was desperate to try anything at all to escape my horrible 9 to 5 job.
That's when I read about alligators in the sewer. Reporters and scientists pooh-poohed the idea, saying the city's sewers were too cold and too toxic for reptiles like alligators. But I wondered if they had factored in Global Warming -- it stands to reason, I told myself, that the waste water going into the sewer was warmer now than ever before, and what with efforts to clean up local pollution, perhaps those subterranean waters were now more hospitable to crocodilians. I was betting that if I used the A. mississippiensis type, which was used to colder weather, I might succeed in breeding them successfully.
And I was right!
All I had to do was flush baby alligators down the toilet, and in six month's time the little buggers had begun to breed and were soon big enough to harvest for leather and for meat.
I got my old gang back together, what was left of them, from the Pacific Trash Vortex venture, and we hunted them down easily enough by dangling pieces of cow liver on hooked lines. They reeled in just like carp.
And let me tell you something, despite PETA and all the other animal huggers, people are crazy about alligator leather shoes and alligator bisque! I trucked the gutted gators to an abattoir just across the line in Canada, and back came beautiful sheets of shiny alligator leather and succulent frozen chunks of alligator meat. (It tastes pretty much like chicken.) Artisan leather workers in New Orleans made purses and luggage for me, while famous Creole chefs turned the alligator meat into canned gumbos and exotic pates. 
Once the money started coming in I made sure the families of those four brave men who died in the Pacific were well-compensated for their loss, and then instead of quitting my daytime job I simply bought the whole dang company outright and fired that MBA gal. 
Now I am running for President on a Platform of Free Rhubarb for Everyone.