Snake
Arriving in my garden at noon,
Uncoiling it settled to catch the sun,
I opened the veranda door and stared motionless
At it, afraid. Flicking its tongue out towards me as a warning
It lifted its head and spat
Challenging me to step out, step
Away from the gloom and walk into the speckled light.
Snakes are the souls of old men turned green
Who loathe learning and courage; they lie
Waiting to ambush the young destroying hope
With venom. Their heads rise from the shadows
Curious in the rising heat. They need the sun
With the same conviction that vampires avoid it.
I looked deep into its eyes.
I knew it was thinking. It was indeed
Weighing up the odds. Was I too big to kill, too bony
To eat? It moved its automaton’s head from side to side
Judging angles and perspective, considering
A strike. It flicked out its tongue as if to taste
My blood, absorb my sinews, ingest my muscle
And swallow my remains.
Flowers, guarding it, protectively leaned over its muscular coils,
Sinking their petals into its skin;
From a distance, like me, a monkey watched
Its movements as if mesmerised too.
I thought of throwing a sack over its laptop eyes
And stuffing its cold strong coils in it but the snake,
Reading my thoughts, held me in its powerful gaze
As if warning me against foolhardy acts. Our stares mutually locked
We spent the day in silent combat, barely moving.
The snake controlled time. Strangling it to death.
For all there, time had stopped. Only our lungs moved.
Eventually, bored with the stand-off, re-energised by the sun
The snake extended its jaw, its scimitar fangs slicing
Us apart as it slowly swallowed the universe.
Stanley Wilkin is a lecturer now living in Portugal.