no harm to the snake
that was
curled in a ball
on the shelf in my shed.
a copperhead,
fat with
dead life of some sort.
he raised
his head
to spit at me as i
stared up at him thinking
he was a silver
roll of pink rope.
a hose perhaps.
i reached
up to touch the skin,
then realized my mistake,
grabbing
a rake
to fend him off.
the neighbor next door,
Sheila,
the piano teacher,
heard the commotion
and came
through the gate with
her gun.
stand back, she said, knock
him to the ground,
then move away.
i got this.
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