Instincts (a found poem from an article in The Las Vegas Review Journal)

Earlier this week,

a 3-year-old boy was

bitten and squeezed

unconscious by an 18-foot

reticulated python.

"She wasn't trying to hurt him,"

the grandmother said of the snake.

"She just instinctively, as a snake would do, coiled him."

The child's mother stabbed the snake 17

times with a kitchen knife.

"I'm so proud of my daughter," the grandmother said.

"Her mother instincts kicked in."

The snake belonged to a strip club that was being renovated.

The toddler had a few bite marks on his chest--none 

required stitches,

according to the grandmother.

"The snake was a good snake," she said.

© Linda Peterson, 2012

Reticulated python
Wikimedia photo by Mark Patterson

In defense of five

It may not be seven's perfection

Or eight's swirling infinity

Especially not three's

Godhead

Right angle strength

balanced on curve thrill,

five is a woman erect 

on a yoga ball

Lovely and odd,

five is the midway 

point to ten, that decadent

basis of metrics and money.

Five is the State Supreme Court--

when two out of three fails,

the rock-paper-scissors plaintiff

appeals to three out of five

for a more just verdict

A smaller scale than one-to-ten,

one-to-five is thriftier, more potent

Five more minutes 

of sleep is the common man's 

dose of indulgence

In minor keys, thirds

may waver, bringing the dark,

the melancholy,

but with the integrity of 

Abraham Lincoln, the fifth

holds steady, knowing

someday the arpeggio

will once again make

a joyful noise. 

© Linda Peterson, 2011

Flowering Cherry
Five petals, five-lobed calyx;
photo by Tony Russell