Saturday, June 2, 2012

Battle of the Blacksnake

Say you, who wins?


They're lovely, aren't they? he said from the warming soil.
Black back coiled only slightly.


Was that a wink?
Seven feet of sleek and he winks?



Sweetly seductive bubbles of raspberry
in the old French basket.
Pungent leaf lettuce
butter-melted in the southern sun.
Slither-son saucy knocks
and
slips in. 
No introduction needed,
he knows the ground in ways
we never will.  Dirt
is his respite.



Let's make a deal, he said.
You take the blue ones, I the red.
I'll get home faster,
as I see that you tumble along when you walk.


Toes are so inconvenient, aren't they?



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