I carried a garter snake
through the whitewashed town: it would hiss
and flick its thin forked tongue
through scaled lips to seduce me.
“Don’t worry yourself;
he cannot bite.”
I would show the rose-red girls,
whose flight o'er mud puddles
made me laugh; at sunset, I rode
my creaky bike with the wind
at my back until I spotted another
of the devious creatures.
When I snatched the last one in my fists,
its neck stiffening as it stared
me in the eye, I felt
its gummy nubs for fangs clamp on
the stringy sinew between thumb
and forefinger.
I stomped the beast
and fled for home--
undoubtedly,
through mud puddles.
