Snake

The snake slips through its own ribs. It surges away accelerating within its length, a self-winding mind pumped through muscular hoops. A sharpshooting tongue flicks, drilling space, muscular chains propel scaly flanks. That elongated, rippling cage, creates side-winder tractor-prints, a pattern etched on the surface of its underbelly belly. Its swift purpose now is to out-speed the threat of my eyes. I kick some dust up, the serpent freezes, then turns to face, not seeing but tasting, a scent that could be the enticing blood-heat of a rabbit, or the stabbing beak of an eagle, yet it hesitates, sensing something alien, different. If it had shoulders, It would have shrugged, Instead, I shrug for it, then walk quickly away.