I was five when,

walking through the Sonoran,

as one does,

I first happened across it.

Faded gold, amber flecks

Fallen from once powerful pinnacles;

The serpent stretched there cautiously

A slackline, soft belly 

Like a half-inflated tire,

Conforming to the various stones and pebbles of the desert.

With a lazy arrogance it raised its head,

Baring its bony gums.

Smiling, like a photographer who desperately needs a smile back.

I was five when,

Being five,

I touched this strange creature,

As one does.

With a train whistle-hiss

It writhed like cigar smoke,

Thrashing, snapping the necks of the nearby brittlebushes.

Pop!

An artery-

Crack!

The spine-

Cut off the fingers and toes for good measure!

I was five when, 

Being a stranger to the ways of a serpent,

I began to cry,

As one does.

Faster than his agony I flew back to my home.

Where, upon seeing my father, I dove for his lap,

Like a rabbit for its hole,

Chased by that strange creature they call a snake.

In safety I melted like wax off a candle

And began to wonder if his heart had beat like mine.

I was five when,

Having peered from under the porch to the darkening sky,

I saw my enemy, brilliant in the wildest colors of the sunset,

As one does.