Crocodile

There’s a gnarled root in the hedgerow
winding down from a tree;
it looks just like a crocodile
glowering up at me.

It has a rounded eye and lid
that glimmer mossy green.
It has a long and wrinkled snout
that looks hungry and mean.

Sometimes I hurry past the beast
hoping I’m not observed.
Sometimes I glance at it sideways
before it darts and swerves.

If I’m feeling death-defying
I saunter by singing,
but usually I sprint like mad
when the reptile’s grinning.

So far, it hasn’t left the hedge
but I’m sure it will soon –
when the lane is deep in shadow,
lit by a silver moon –

then I’ll hear the croc cavorting
in the mud near the shed
or splashing in our goldfish pond,
but I’ll be safe in bed.