Dreamed 1993/1/29 by Chris Wayan
Such a banquet! True, it's indigestible--|
But my parents mean well. And they pay.
A rattlesnake snores beneath our table.
My feminist mother kicks it away.
Not the place for a poison penis!
And besides, "He can't appreciate
This food: snakes have no taste."
The snake wakes, insulted,
Coils to a churning pool of scales,
And snarls "Back off!" and I do, I do.
"All it wants is space," I say,
"And how do you know it's not a she?"
I don't point out a rattler-tongue's
a forked gourmet who merely disagrees
That screaming squirming mouse can't please
Like rotten Brie.
The coil and I back off a bit, and calm,
Angry thrashing at my knee.
I wake in a cold reptilian fear--and here I swear
So when "Face your blah blah" invades YOUR head,
True story! They took me out to dinner. No snake. I went to bed, dreamed the dinner again. Snake! And woke with twin fang marks on my knee.
I didn't swell up and die. But still, pretty physical for a dream-snake...
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