Something prehistoric does arise
approaching Mother Gator's birthing mound.
Reptilian brain, primordial pair of eyes
see naught but food or danger looking 'round
at local parents, tourists, kids, and I
as we stare back in awe.  We hear the sound
of striped-back alligator babies' cries,
seeking out the warmth of higher ground.

We move to see them better. Her cold stare
and shift in murky water lets us know
that not by grace of boardwalk are we there,
but her ancestral patience.  As I go,
I turn once more to see her lying where
she has been since a million years ago.