One Poem by Parker Fendler

 

The Outlaw and the Snake

 

The man pithered; the snake slithered.

Their paths crossed; neither withered.

A ragged tumbleweed skipped along,

bisected them and then was gone.

 

A swirl of dust in the waning light

marked the spot where the two would fight.

The snake reared up and shook his rattle.

The man clenched fists to engage in battle.

 

Surprised the man was holding ground,

the snake inquired in a hissing sound.

Of my venom don’t you dread?

Surely my bite will kill you dead.

 

It’s me you should fear the man then said.

He tipped the hat upon his head.

My evil soul the Devil will beckon.

What flows my veins will kill you I reckon.

 

The snake gave thought to hesitation.

For even he sought self-preservation.

A nearby tree offered safe protection.

He glided up at his own election.

 

Coiled on branch he spoke with curiosity.

Man, what set your blood to toxicity?

For I have never known a person

whose blood ingested could slay a serpent.

 

I shot a man and stole his treasure.

Spent the bulk at a house of pleasure.

Bought some whiskey and a bird that sings.

Lost the rest to a pair of Kings.

 

We snakes kill too for food we need,

but never do we kill for greed.

Taking a life, a sin committed.

By your laws is that permitted?

 

According to laws of man and God,

a killer’s corpse shall rot in sod.

But first he’ll hang from swinging noose,

his neck stretched long like wild goose.

 

Yet here you stand above the mud,

your heart still pumping tainted blood.

Of killing has your appetite whet.

I wonder do you feel regret?

 

The cost of sins may be deferred,

but due in full when body interred.

Until the hangman hoists me high,

I’ll do as I please and some may die.

 

With no remorse for evil employed,

a man like you should be destroyed.

I fear the bite would kill me too.

A fine dilemma, what to do?

 

Strike me now or shut your mouth.

I’ve men to kill both north and south.

He spat some chaw in the desert soil,

and passed below the dangling coil.

 

To pierce the skin would risk infection,

so the snake pursued another direction.

He looped his body in a knot

and hung the outlaw on the spot.

 

Parker Fendler -  has been conjuring up poems and stories ever since he could dream. He recently began transcribing them after waking. His work has appeared in Sixfold, Across the Margin, Amarillo Bay, Potato Soup Journal, Penmen Review, Suddenly and Without Warning, and Corvus Review.