From Mountain Redemption:
Killing a Rattler
At first, the double-barreled shotgun blast,
and then the dull, wet thump and metal clank
the snake made as he dropped it chunk by chunk
into a pail. With eyes clamped shut, I’d missed
the kill. I felt a rough hand clasp my wrist
as his tobacco wafted close: Boy, think
before you walk out here alone. The stink
of blood and gunshot ripened as he passed
the pail beneath my face. I’d heard of snakes
the size of a man’s leg, been taught to steer
away from brush and dark thickets. I squealed
as Grandpa palmed my forearm like an axe.
He thrust my hand into the cooling mire
of meat and scales then held me as I bawled.