Settling In

Cow don’t poke your curious nose
at me, long neck hanging
over some invisible bucket.
I’ll coil and spit into your stupid face,
panic you and your herd,
watch you relocate for hours
forgetting about me.

I, Snake, claim this sun–tilted hill
to sprawl.
Stretch and let the cropped field grass
scratch my back
and stomach
down to my bright, wet (sleek, yeah!) baby skin.
High on eggs, I might just lie
until I rub away.

 

From The Swamps That Close

copyright 2004 Tyler Johnson

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