morning snake

how fat the black snake
was.
a rope, a hose of life,
coiled in small bones,
slicked skin,
gliding through the green grass.
head up,
tongue, as pink as gum
tasting the morning air.
how you stepped back,
watching your feet, wondering
fearfully
if there were others.
then the woman came out,
drinking her coffee
and said, pointing,
oh, I see the snake is back.