One sultry summer morning
entering the cool, dark boat shed,
my father looked up,
backed up, and bumped me back.
About to complain, I saw
the uneasy look on his face
and followed his stare to
the black snake’s head
hanging in mid-air
coming down from the rafters,
the rest of its five-foot length
wrapped around wooden beams.
Its forked tongue
flickered for scents,
essence of evil.
Black snakes are good snakes,
mouse and rat killers.
Some say they chase away
rattlesnakes, but this creature
was still eerie, gliding down
so slyly, slowly and silently,
startling the bravest
man I knew.
