Patters her toes in the rhythms of rain,
torturing the thirsty she is eager
to drain of any flittering vain
hopes that remain in sad bowed meager
heads in the sand. Her species perfects
this technique before the invention
of man. In school she learns to dissect
them with patrician hands, an intuition
of serpents an apex predator still
understands even diminished to
ribbons, teeth. Remembers ancient thrills
of consuming what lies beneath. If you
squint your eyes right she looks like a plaything.
The last thing you’ll think is she tastes like spring.