Dart, slither, jump
and change color.
Red, green, then brown.
Hide from me.
Don't move and blend
into the foliage
or the rock crevice.
But when you ride my pointing finger,
you are as happy as can be.
Why did you hide?
Have you learned
from the romance novels
about being a bit reluctant
to be better appreciated when caught?
Do not the story tellers among you
report the delight of a warm finger?
Now living in the cage of flowers
and fed crickets are you not
the top of the evolutionary pyramid?
You look as if you were there
in the Mesozoic swamps.
What would some of your
dinosaur relatives have thought
if they knew that
if they waited long enough,
they to could ride out the day
on a warm finger.
So stop darting ,
jumping and slithering
and come ride my pointing finger.
Pretend you are
the hood ornament on a Porche
or a brave sailor
staring into the eye of a storm
with hair and beard
cutting the wind.
Be an explorer looking
for a Northwest Passage,
or an Indian Scout searching for buffalo.
But answer me this:
how did you learn to be
so coquettishly hard to catch
and then the heroic finger rider?
Perhaps your task is that of a mirror
through which I can walk
to see the Life metaphor all the better.