By William Doreski
Sulfurous heat swabs the hills.
I dash from the car to my office,
leaving my shadow frying
on the asphalt, a slice of ham.
So many phone calls to suffer,
e-mail to sliver the ether,
memos to fold and discard.
I open my office and swill
the stale light. Someone died here
in my absence, someone un-
lovable as Stalin, someone
broken like a question mark
and left to cogitate to death.
As I unzip my briefcase to paw
through papers, a garter snake
no longer than a shoelace,
no tougher than cooked spaghetti,
warps to the carpet and S-curves
toward the doorway. I snatch it
by the tail and dangle it
and peer into its small golden eye
and read there entire lifetimes
of evolution that donít apply
to me, the forked tongue flashing.
Copyright © 2007 by William Doreski.