Word. Peace Out, Pops. 

My father HATES snakes. Rather like Indiana Jones hates snakes, only more vehemently.

When I was little, a black snake got into our farm house. I vividly recall his unrelenting flow of profanity as my dad chased it around the first floor, while my mom, brother, and I looked down from the upstairs hall.

Without going into gory details, the snake did not fare well. Nor did any other snakes, of any size, I ever saw cross my father’s path. Dad didn’t always keep his cool, but the unwelcome companions almost never kept their heads.

Recently, one of my brothers posted a graphic about the mistaken identity of different snakes. Above it, the author specifically warns against killing black snakes because they keep copperhead snakes away.

Being the bratty daughter I am, I tagged my dad and made some snarky remark about his bad karma for killing the black snake in our house.

Daddy, who is in his mid-70s, swiftly sent me this text which I am still laughing about.

I have to give my father co-authorship credit on this poem (which is admittedly more senryū than haiku), as it practically wrote itself.

Snakes – whatever ilk – 

Be warned: Steer clear of my Pops 

Word. Peace out. Full stop.

PS – When I sent my dad the poem inspired by his text, the #KingOfTheGroaners replied:

“Very nice! Glad to be a muse as well as amuse🤓”

And now you know why I call him the King of the Groaners.


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