In the mid-eighties
my big brother kept animals in his bedroom.
He worked at "Animal Care"--
an afterschool veternary interest group
for high school students.
.

Every so often there'd be a strange animal in our house,
like the fish that could live dried out on the carpet
for weeks, back behind the break front in the dining room.
.

In September,
on a neglected afternoon
I found my brother's copperhead.
I wasn't 'sposed to be in there.
I jimmied the lock, as I was so good at doing and
saw the aquarium had a large and heavy rock placed on top of the lid.
With some effort I lifted the rock off and onto the dresser
and peered down inside at the serpent who slept,
sunning itself on an electric rock.
.

A peal of cruelty ripped through me,
hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end, and
I reached for the mason jar of marbles and rocks
on the makeshift dresser aquarium stand.
I pelted the copperhead on the head with rocks.
.

It coiled up and didn't move
after I dented its neck in. 
.

In my five year-old brain,
I was afraid I mortally wounded the creature,
and shrunk back in fear of what was done.
.

I put the lid back on the aquarium,
but forgotten the rock.
I left the room but
I forgot the lock.
.
.
.
Deep purple lines bled down her ankle
a bad tattoo of black lightening
arching south into her swollen toes.
.

She was fucking lucky.
.
The anomaly of copperheads slithering around
the floors of the rusty spoon, on her off day,
attracted a local camera crew.
.
Virginia reconciled her fear of snakes
with alcoholism, and drank her tequila sunrise
out of an empty dollar store Virgin of Guadeloupe votive.