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
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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