Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Give-and-Take

An intrepid snake slithered
over my feet, then coiling,
lifted its head to observe
me snapping cloud pictures,
palm trees with shredded leaves,
and my neighbor David’s pinwheels.

Such moments of grace, whirling
twirling to the tune of camera clicks…
Wasn’t I supposed to scream?
Wasn’t it supposed to slink away?
Now, how can I call snakes odious
after one of them with friendly vibes,
radiating gentle curiosity,
observed me? And
who says forked tongues
only spit out poison?

the theme of “supposed to”