Ripples silently writhe on the gravel
slithering with diamonds on the back rack.
Hissing, I coil with my tongue darting back.
What a barren road for one to travel.
My ears perk up . . . listen for the rattle;
I need pure silence--no one to tattle--
as I slither onto a boulder,
hide in the shade. I’m feeling colder.
Give me a stone that stays really hot,
feed me a mouse with no signs of rot.
When I’m feeling fine I will slither
I’ll tease you with looks of ‘come hither,’
and give you a ‘one-of-a-kind’ squeeze.
You’ll double over . . . fall on your knees;
though you feed me I am caged and riled.
Far from a normal pet . . . I’m still wild.
Look at me, you'll see I’ve opened wide;
the next thing you’ll see is deep inside.
Snakes have no loyalty . . . but coil, die.