Still Life, Hilton Head

No, not a log
on the bank that rises
from the lagoon—

an alligator!
Just one shade browner
than the pristine

golf-course green
of this lawn-mown,
laundered neighborhood.

An alligator
just feet away—
undead, unfunnily

playing possum
as if an exterior
decorator

had staged it there
like a polar bear
rug or a chair;

or as if some matron
had pinned on the mound
of her bosom

a jeweled, enameled,
allegorical
alligator

she’d picked up
at a museum shop.
Don’t touch! The rich

won’t hurt you
if you don’t
hurt them.