Crocodile Hunter

(I guess the humour is in the irony...)

I hunted a crocodile with my gun at the ready.
I was a good hunter, strong and steady,
But my boat was weak; the water poured in.
I ran out of options and drained the gin.

My paddle had snapped many miles behind,
So I flowed on the current, half out of my mind.
A ripple close by and my hands went numb,
If a crocodile came, I was surely done.

As my vessel grew fuller, I saw my fate;
The moment I swam it would be too late.

When the water soaked through my new hunting boots
And my boat sputtered over the river reed shoots,
I knew now that hunter had turned to hunted
And that one lonely human would soon lose his head
To a hungry beast who he’d come to see dead.

Back

© Fionyac