Shock

On my way past the woodpile I almost tread on
a slithering slow-worm in the tall
forest of grass, a dark streak, known

to be completely harmless - adders
go for drier, rougher haunts -
yet vaguely disturbing like a sudden

illumination of something darker behind
the bright looks of acknowledged
respectability - like desire, having

lain in its box of repression too long,
showing through. Cracks will fall in your armour;
the plates have worn thin by ceaseless erosion

of blows and rain's rusted the hinges. As I frown
at my startled unease and step back
the reptile slides away beneath the logs.