Serpentless day.

All observers who were horrified by the previous snakes can, as of today, settle down. We had a day with no snake sightings. Moreover, I found out all sorts of things about the historian's snake shenanigans. Apparently, the historian, whom I believe to be one of the world's most secular men, is a snake-handler. If by "snake-handler," we mean "a man who will shoo snakes back to a safer place so they won't run into the road and get run over by a car."

The way I see it, you can find this admirable, in the way that we admire the great humanitarians, because he's looking out for the creatures of the world.

On the other hand, they're snakes. Here's a bit of the colloquy between my son who is in China and myself this morning:

Walker: has that snake been crucified yet?

me: it was a bunch of garden snakes.

I think there were like six of them.

Walker: six?

8:18 AM me: seriously

Walker: what did you do with them?

me: I have another picture of them dispersiing

Walker: it looked like one

me: they ran away

under a rock

Walker: ahhh!

me: I know it was creepy

they were all in a pile

Walker: call the exterminator

Walker: they were probably mating

me: gaaaa

Walker: i know, we need them out

before there are millions

8:19 AM me: they eat spiders

and mice

Walker: i really am freaked out, i don't ever want to see that picture again

i don't care they might eat me

me: okay, okay

but you know John

Walker: kill!kill!

me: he shooed them away because he was afraid they might go into the street and get hurt

Walker: no!

me: I kid you not.

8:20 AM Walker: what if they crawl into my room through the window well?

me: I will point this out.

Walker: at least shoo them into the horse place

that's probably where they all come from

me: it was in the front yard

john says he might try to "relocate" them and I will encourage the field to be the relocation place

Walker: those snakes will be the death of me

me: do you remember when you trapped one under a flower pot?

Walker: maybe

me: I do.

I wrote a poem about it.

Walker: did we kill it, because we should have

what did we do with it?

me: no, we released it into the wild

I wouldn't let you kill it

Walker: he is probably the root of this mess

Let me add to this bit of trans-continental discourse that the historian's snake relocation methods include putting the snake into a paper bag. Does this involve picking up the snake with his hands? Yes, yes it does. It goes without saying that the hands are bare, as in, without protective snake-proof gloves with tongs attached.

"Wow, I guess everyone's freaked out by the snakes," he says, mildly, after singing son calls to ask about the snakes.

Sir, the reason we are freaked out is that they are snakes. Do I have to spell it for you? S-N-A-K-E-S. Which word, by the way, comes from the way way back Proto-Indo-European root for "super-f***ing-uncanny limbless elongate." I looked it up.

Today's poem, perhaps uncoincidentally titled "To a snake."

tags: serpentless

Looking for a poem, I'm not sure what one.

I found this, Marie Ponsot, in Springing:

Call

Child like a candelabra at the head
of my bed, wake in me & watch me as
I sleep; maintain your childlife undistracted
where, at the borders of its light, it has
such dulcet limits it becomes the dark.
Maintain against my hungry selfishness
your simple gaze where fear has left no mark.

Today my dead mother to my distress
said on the dreamphone, "Marie, I'll come read
to you," hung up, & and in her usual dress
came & stood here. Cold--though I know I need
her true message--I faced her with tenderness
& said, "This isn't right," & she agreed.

Child, watched by your deeper sleep, I may yet say yes.