Some say the serpent first appeared with buttocks, hips, thighs —
later forfeiting its haunches when caught,
Satan-possessed, in the God standoff.
If I were one of a dozen squirmy reptiles expelled like bowel-fanging
tapeworms through a maternal opening, would I resent this
dragging my underside through the dust, this victim’s punish-
ment applied to my hijacking into the devil’s vesselship?
No. Creation would have me granted rows of scales like fingernails to
unshock my gravel-creeping endeavor, would have me endowed
with the clean start of skin sloughing, undressed down to fresh
keratin, peeled sock cascading around jutting barked limbs.
I would belly crawl contentedly. I would slither and crawl as my lot,
because slithering — not questioning why I slither —
would be the highest purpose of my existence.