Fibreglass Boats And Lemonade Stands Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

I heard the hissing of the snake
before I felt it fangs pierce the night air.

Fibreglass boats and lemonade stands.
Blinking lights and trembling hands.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.
Beginning, ending. Ending, beginning.

We have such a variety of words
defining the extremes, but what of
the in-between? The middle?

What happens between A and Z?
Between now and than?

That is what I forget about
as I feel the poison become me.