Winged Snake Found on a Path Poem By Matthew Rohrer
A long time ago, twelve hours from here
by car, on a small bit of acreage with a pond,
I was squatting in my shorts and contemplating
a poisoned, purple bean
when the grownups slapped it from my grasp.
It was hot in the air, in the furrows in the field.
It was cool on the black bottom of the pond,
and a chill rose from the deep
and settled under the trees.
This was known only to children
or to someone without goals.
I left the heat and circled the princely pond.
My head even then was too big,
and filled with trees.
And I almost did not see the winged snake
stretched across the path.
His long bright wings were battered and thin.
I knelt: someone had done him in.
And that was the last one I have seen.