Dreamt a snake would clearly
cut me off before I wriggled
across itchy dry paspalum
to the safety of brick steps
on Grandma Beat's front veranda.
So doubled back to confront,
to parlay. I'm only eight.
Can't we cut a deal here?
My Bendigo Crossroads.
Negotiated.
And that pact has dogged me
in all subsequent dealings
with authority. Sure, I remain
unbitten but whatever that
offer comprised, toothlessed me.
In some ways it's been good.
I know I'll never be snake.
But the pound of flesh exacted
set up a chain of compromise
that feels dirty to this day.
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