Disciplined, Michael Moreth.
How to Rub Bellies with a Gator
John Dorroh
First you must be quiet & motionless for at least one hour,
with no puckering or scratching, or thinking about scratching,
& absolutely no celestial vibrations in your chest or throat.
Position is everything. Know it like a floor plan,
what you’ll say the first time you see one. The locals tell you
that the eyeballs floating atop the water is but a myth.
Pick out a weapon. It can’t be as sharp as a knife, or something
shaped like a bat. These are not Spanish bulls. They have good
days & bad. Their teeth can cut you into messy but definite
pieces.
Seeking out one whose skin is leathered is not always your best
bet. You have to read the body like a ticker tape or a devious
scythe, releasing all the anticipation you’ve amassed in the
weeks when you first found out. You must match its breath
& prepare to girdle & coo, making certain that this one’s
not awake. A cool day is best but so often it can’t be helped.
If you find one lying on its back, digits raised toward gray sky,
consider yourself most lucky. If, however, the gator’s on it belly,
you’ll have to make a plan to flip it right side up. You will
quickly learn your fate.
John Dorroh has never fallen into an active volcano, nor has he ever caught a hummingbird. He has however, baked bread with Austrian monks and consumed a healthy portion of their beer. Five of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Hundreds of others have appeared in over 100 journals, including Feral, Kissing Dynamite, and Pif. He once won Editor's Choice in a regional journal and was given enough money for a sushi dinner for two. He had two chapbooks published in 2022.