Memory of a Mamba

I saw a mamba,

A black one,

Looping at pace,

Risking the path,

Being seen

And the stones that would follow.

I remember seeing dead ones

Being dragged around,

Like armless puppets

On wires,

Over gravel roads

Lifelessly chasing happy shoeless legs.

But not this one.

After its tail

Had darted from the trail,

And the lovegrass

had recovered

To its regular jive with the breeze,

I remained still,

Transfixed,

And afraid to cross its path.