Richard L. Matta
Looking for Trouble
Twilight on a quiet foothill trail—nothing here but silt, ants, and the occasional tarantula. I’m lost in thought when I spot a wide indentation at my feet, as if a giant pipe had been dragged through the dust. Up ahead, the largest rattlesnake I’ve ever seen. I stay parallel, just out of strike range, and pace it—seven feet, maybe more. Its head is larger than my fist, and I wear XL gloves. I imagine its jaws wrapped clean around my thigh. I pick up a rock and edge forward. The snake coils like a firehose. I lower the rock. We repeat the rhythm: advance, recoil, retreat.
Eventually I sit, watching it slip away. There’s something more than false heroism in my approach. Maybe it’s the quiet path we shared. The snake’s patience. The sun slipping behind the ridge.
heat waves—
gram’s show-and-tell
rattler tail bag
About the Author
Richard L. Matta grew up in New York’s Hudson Valley, attended university, practiced forensic science, and now lives in San Diego. Some of his haiku, tanka and haibun are in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Akitsu Quarterly, Bottle Rockets and Presence. His long-form poetry is found in various journals, including Gyroscope, Dewdrop, Ancients Path and Healing Muse.