Alligator Wedding, San Pedro Huamelula

First they tie my mouth. Good and tight. Since I am a princess, they slide over me a splash of lace. Hugo Sosa picks me up. In those naked hands with feeble claws I’m solid as a deer haunch or a chunky dog. Does he salivate? Across the threshold, through the village square he carries me. White froth drags in our wake. We glide on a dry river, choked with humans loud as hummingbirds. Flightless, though. I wish I was free to crunch one down. They bray and bang. If this is honor, I’d hate to see what they call violence.

I’m supposed to help them multiply. Ha! They already are too numerous; any predator will tell you, they are ripe for culling, which would be my pleasure and my right if the Great Alligator did answer devotions. Their bellies have no bottom. They suck wetlands dry, clog my swamp with nests of stone, and despite those puny teeth and jaws do a fine job eating one another up. Go to it. But why eat the rest of us? No way to ask. Mayor Sosa grins, looms over me. What a musky stink. He plants a kiss upon my scaly snout.