artwork: ralph murre
Venom
by
Robert Walton
The
rattlesnake's severed head rested
Like
a spent bullet
Against
My
grandfather's boot.
Desert
dust
Coated
that boot
With
years of layers,
None
from a trail.
He
nudged the head,
Tipped
it with his toe
Until
the fangs pointed up.
I
shivered,
But
I liked those fangs.
Children
respect
Clear
intentions
And
nothing's as pure as
Venom.
~
first published at Fictionique
