The Snake

Pauline Delaney
My sister killed a snake			
On her thirteenth birthday.
biggest damned rattler I ever saw – 
Coiled tight as a bed spring,				
Tongue flicking, tail buzzing,
Ready to strike
Her birthday-gift puppy.

And that little wisp of a girl,
The one who trembled at ghost stories,
Who hid from strangers,
The one we called Scairdy Cat,
Grabbed Grandpaw’s rifle off its rack
Took aim, then blasted that snake
Right between the eyes.

She chopped off the snake’s head
And buried it
So the puppy couldn’t
Find it, play with it,
Make the dead snake so mad
He’d snap his jaws shut and pump the pup
Full of venom after all.

As the headless snake twisted and writhed
Around her arms, her hands,
My sister peeled off the skin
Like a dirty sock
And flung the carcass to the pup.
She made me a snake skin belt
And for herself, she strung the rattles
On a string and wore them like an Olympic medal.