snake incident, 3:14pm
there he goes again—
bloke in thongs
gripping that bent garden rake
like it owes him money
chasing something near the clothesline.
grass—patchy, burnt— doesn’t flinch
but i do when he shouts
“bloody hell, it’s fast!”
under the hills hoist
a rustle
a tail flick
a flash
he’s got it pinned.
not bad for a bloke
who once tried to hammer
a magpie’s shadow.
he’s wrestling
now arms and legs
scrambling like a child playing rugby
with a shopping trolley
and suddenly— it\'s done.
rake quivering
snake head gone
both silent.
he looks over
like he wants applause
but I just nod
and put the kettle on.
.
.
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