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Bait and Tackle - Joel Fisher

There’s a small snake in the bathtub. I saw it in the garden, smuggled it in. Kept in hidden in my pocket, then a tube, until I spilled it, wriggling, into suds. My mum doesn’t know yet. The bubbles keep it hidden. Beneath I see glimpses of pink, glistening skin. The purple end reflected large. I feel it writhe against me. Feel me writhe against it. I don’t like this anymore – Mummy!

I scream and scream and am told I am a silly boy. They remove it, scoop it with a tooth cup and tip it, squirming-wet, from a small gap in the window.

That night I dream it’s burrowing. Inching through me. It weeps a milky substance, rears erect and spews.

The next day my bed is a hospice; soiled sheets wreathed by a solemn family jerking out prayers.

Image Credit: iGlobalWeb

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