“I’ve got a car full of snakes,”
I would have sworn I heard the dad say
to his probably-third-grade kid
as I walked through the school lobby
to pick up my own. I hadn’t been listening,
lost in thought, until his words played back
in my mind and I turned to watch
as they slipped out the door to the parking lot.
I tried to recall the boy’s response.
If he’d been begging for a pair
of pet pythons, I should have heard
his joyous shriek, but the playback
was blank. Perhaps a shrug of acceptance.
Maybe dad was a herpetologist,
bringing weekend work home from the lab.
Or maybe the boy had shuddered in silence.
A punishment, perhaps. Or emersion therapy
for a child who needed to face his fears.
A slithering dose of nature writhing
in the backseat as the kid timidly
buckles in. Dad backing out, telling him,
“We’ve got to stop for rats on the way home.”