toasty flips tuna on his back.
she strikes him in the head
and he twists to his feet.
a snake corpse lies by their bedside,
headless and dejected,
flakes of skin littered about.
orange tinges from lantanas
bounce off tuna’s fur.
he hisses at her, inches near,
and slings his paw back for fire.
toasty springs into the forest,
her silhouette blending into the night.
tuna chases her into the trees.
“he could neva catch her,”
kevan’s father says, exhaling
smoke and disappointment.
he pulls another cigarette to his lips,
“he who hesitates masturbates.”