Crocodile Tears

Centre piece.  The eye of the predator has been set into the front of the handbag.  Varnished.  Polished to perfection.  Shining in the midday sun.    Having trouble shopping for the Missus? Then buy her a reptile skinned handbag.  For the small sacrifice of the Nile's fiercest predator, bring home this fantastic present that will make your wife love you for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.

The accessories crash and bash in the bag.  Fighting for room.
Rolling from one side to the other.  Rolling from one side to the other.
Souvenirs, compacts, key rings, the odd adorable reptile hatch ling.
Not even the bourgeoisie can tame wild animals.  You will not grow into it.

You rip the smile out of the crocodile. Me, you, I, him, her, we all share toothy grins.
You wear a cashmere coat of scales.  It falls past your ankles.  Be careful you don't trip.  You cry fake tears.  It lures the animal in.  You blast it to oblivion.

Is it a scarf? No it's a snake.  With marble smooth skin.  It moves down the woman's body, as she shivers in fear and disgust.  It dances away through the grass, leaving the human to lumber after it.  CLIP! CLOP! CLUNK! CLUMP! STAMP! BANG!
Who had the luckier escape?

Slow and steady wins the race, unless you're a tortoise.  The hunters sprint to the finish and bide their time.  They endlessly wait, as the hands trudge around the face.  Tick Tock.  Tick Tock.  Tick Tock! Tick TOCK! Tick TOCK! TICK TOCK! How much time do reptiles have?
Who are the real front runners?

*Author's Notes*

A continuation of my environmental poetry, this time focusing on the Reptile trade