Moss draped trees swung in the humid breeze
As Roger held his shotgun up to his shoulder
Ready to pull the trigger if one of those damn crocs showed back up
Silently he waded into the tepid waters a bit more.
He never saw the one come up from behind.
Spewing swearwords at his partner
A lively discussion deteriorated into a verbal brawl
Leaving their relationship listless on the brackish waters of their tears
To think how fast something so spicy had lost all flavor
Yet it now left a sour taste in his mouth