Snake
Black snake’s a thick
cursive on the road,
sliding yardward.
Dad’s smoking in his chair,
says grab the shovel.
I do as I’m told,
chop its neck
against the gravel
as it flashes white
and bites the air.
Days before,
a grass snake like
a thin vine tendrilled
the shovel handle
on the porch,
green and slow.
The cat ignored it,
I let it go.
From Ark (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Ed Madden. Used with the permission of the poet.
Ed Madden
Ed Madden was raised in Newport, Arkansas. He received a BA in English and French from Harding University, a BS in Biblical studies from the Institute for Christian Studies, an MA in English from the University of Texas at Austin, and a PhD in literature from the University of Texas at Austin.
Madden’s most recent collections include Ark (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2016); Nest (Salmon Poetry, 2014); and Prodigal: Variations (Lethe Press, 2011).