dark poetry

have you not heard
it was many and many a year ago
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
it was a tall young oysterman
stuff of the moon
and my name is truthful
did you ever see an alligator
up from the south at break of day
i reside at table mountain
there were three in the meadow by the brook
since i have felt the sense of death