Prose Poem: The Crocodile Form.

 

At the rec center they wanted me to

 sign a piece of paper 

before letting me into the pool area.

"What's this for?" I asked the young lifeguard

who handed it to me.

"Just a standard crocodile form -- nothing

to worry about" he told me, his blond 

hair obscuring his shifty eyes.

"Whoa! Wait a minute" I replied,

taking a step back from him.

"What crocodiles?"

"The ones that might somehow

someday someway get into the

pool" he told me, trying to brush his

blond hair out of his shifty eyes,

but only succeeding in looking

all the more shifty.

"Won't the chlorine keep 'em out?"

I asked him earnestly.

I loved swimming at the rec center,

and didn't want to have to stop.

"We sure hope so" he said.

"But if you don't sign I can't

let you into the pool."

"Why all the sudden concern about

crocodiles?" I asked him shrewdly.

"Have they been sighted around here?"

"No sir" he replied stoutly.

"But several children have gone completely

missing in the last few weeks.

So we got to assume the worst."

"Couldn't be a cougar or something else?"

I asked.

"Of all the big carnivores" said the

blond lifeguard authoritatively,

"only the crocodile leaves nothing behind

of its victim -- swallowing the clothes, 

shoes, and even belt buckles and suspenders."

"But you haven't actually seen one 

around here, right?" I asked.

"Not yet" said the kid.

This was a great conversation to have,

at least for me, 

to get your bowels moving.

So I went to take care of that

and then came back and

signed the crocodile form.

That's when the cougar attacked me.