The Snake House Poem by Neil Stewart McLeod

I called it the "Snake House".
Others may not have done.
My mother and father may have known its address,
The house in Koru, on the hill
Halfway up to the soda water bottling plant,
Where heavy limbed trees arched across the road
And pigeons cooed when the light was soft.

I called it the "Snake House",
My ayeh might have done so
Having snatched me up when the green mamba
Was seen in the bushy hedge
Separating the terraced lawns with rose beds
From the fir tree forest
At the bottom of the garden.

I called it the "Snake House",
And I always will
For three tea chest sides that paneled out the ceiling
Above the dining table
Were marked where the oils of departure
Seeped through to stain the wood
Showing where, coiled, one lay.

I called it the "Snake House",
And so it is forever
For round the dining room atop two walls
Was a python skin, full fourteen inches broad.
No wonder when I woke one morning to see dimly lit,
The dog torn fly screen,
I mistook it for a flared cobra's hood.

So I called it the "Snake House"!