Rinkhals Thoughts Poem by Gert Strydom

I sail to wherever I want to be,
sometimes lie stretched out
in the hot African sun

always inspecting the air
with my forked tongue
sensing with my black shiny eyes

if there’s movement anywhere,
something to spray with my deadly spit
a enemy to strike out at

before it can squash me
and forever I am free
to hit at the heel

to find my own way
through the undergrowth,
to prey whenever I want

with a deadly flash,
to end life, I am created for it
and nothing but death stops me

and sometimes you will find
where I have been
by the marks on the sand,

the remains of my skin
or victims that I have left
or turned right over

poising as if dead,
waiting on the right moment
to come to life, to hit with great speed.

[Reference: Rinkhals: Ring necked African spitting cobra.]