“How We Become Cynical” by Jason McKinley Williams

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Writhing,
trembling,
the garter snake again rose over my tiny rake
again dove through the tines.
Plunging back into the flaking leaves piled in my window well.

I just wanted to rake out the well,
lift him up and lay him aside.
But he thrashed and darted,
his gray, slender body vanishing
into the decomposing chaff.

After my frustration mounted,
and I’d spent much longer than I’d hoped,
I finally snagged him,
tipped him over the edge.
He wriggled into the hostas.

But then, the rest of the afternoon,
and into the night,
every time I brushed clippings from the boxwoods
or eased my hand toward a weed in the liriope,
or snatched a branch up from the yard,
I swore I heard rustling sound,
and tensed, waiting for the strike.

-Jason McKinley Williams

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