Eva, my downstairs neighbor,
with her Tuesday fuchsia hair
and her Friday hair chartreuse,
elusive as quicksilver spilled
and rolling, a hundred tiny orbs in all directions,
dashed from the house in her tiger-striped slip
dress, the one I’d have stolen, given the chance.
She was going to miss her bus—again.

Next door, the snake in the shrubbery
raised his head and sniffed her perfume.
He lowered the hood on his classic red Corvette,
wiped a mote of dust from that shiny apple
and slunk on over to offer her a bite.

This poem first appeared in Free Verse (October 2004, Issue #77).
Used here with the author’s permission.