flee

the snake
rattles before
it strikes,
the bangles
on her wrist
jingling
as she rises
in a tight curl.
baring
her shiny fangs
wet
with unspoken
poison.
there is no
reasoning with her,
no apologies
for bothering
her world.
miss manners
or dear abby,
have no say
in this matter.
no sage advice.
it's time
to run.