Hanque O . . .

Much maligned.
Poor things.
Zero at the Bone, perhaps;
but I am sympathetic.
Every Joad upon the road
Swerves to flatten,
Backing-up to do it right.
The snake's benign intent
Is nothing more than a cricket,
A mouse, a frog. Horrible?
And your last meal was?
Sated, their need becomes
A sun-warmed surface.
Evil idyll, so it seems.
Innocent to me.
Venom, that's the thing,
A trick of defense,
One they did not request.
A small defense, indeed,
Come a hawk or fox,
Or Chevy dually 4 X 4.
Best to leave the poison
Ones alone, but a harmless
Snake, curious and quiet,
Upon your arm, will be content
To explore, flicking tongue,
Up and down, all around.
The stealth by which they move
(Could you do better
Sans arms and legs?) ,
Sends shivers down one's spine.
Not mine.
Swift, sleek slide through grass,
Down a hole, up a tree,
That's for me.