Honeysnake Poem by Belle Violet

If there's anything
arbitrarily,
official at all,
It's my right to
your nickname withdrawal.
You, sir,
are no longer my Chief.
You're no longer the fella
who gets to own me.
In hindsight
I should have called you
Honeysnake;
grossly sweet,
sticking
and syrupy,
slithering serpentine.
I didn't sting you, you bit me.
So much for being
your honeybee...
And, somehow, you could still
tempt me to eat
poison apples from trees,
wearing only fruit leaves.
You're the oldest
trick
in my book.