Snakeskin

I saw
a snakeskin
in a yard
cut in two like a hose
the men mowing and trimming
didn’t seem to care
this was a house
where a captain of industry lived
now old and for sale—
there were crayons in the street
it was summer after all
maybe kids killed the snake
skinned it
cooked it over a fire
ate the meat
and ran naked through the trees
the way the master of the house
once skinned cooked and ate
mill workers at J&L
and ran naked into the Ohio River—
anyway
lawn mowers and tractors kept cutting in the dark
there was no blood on the grass for them
and no words
but a snakeskin sliced like confetti
that blew for hours

By John Stupp

Biography:

John Stupp is the author of the 2007 chapbook The Blue Pacific and the 2015 full-length collection Advice from the Bed of a Friend both by Main Street Rag. Recent poetry has appeared or will be appearing in Drunk Monkeys, Cactus Heart, Vending Machine Press, Icarus Down, Weirderary, Wordrunner eChapbooks, SHARKPACK Poetry Review, The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and on the radio show Prosody. He lives near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.