The perfect manner of the crocodile
faceted glinting eye that never blinks.
Somewhere behind the stare there's something thinks
old venom malice. Not so much a smile
though teeth are there and blooded. Maybe smirk
self-pleased and praised. And hungers not for blood
but bone crunch and she waddles in the mud
unresting. Values gold and pain and work
and armour wrapped around. In grids and swirls
hard leathered nodules nothing can bites to bleed
A tail that she can bludgeon smash at need.
And round the neck a perfect set of pearlS,
the queen of death she squelches through this bog
we made her queen believing her a log.