In another Coleridge dream,
my lithe python, eager

to please, slithers off
down the carpool lane.

Glides slow, pays the toll
takes the proper exit,

finds the store. She buys
chips, cheap beer, dip,

splurges on a Lycra skin.
Hemmed in at rush-hour,

she threads traffic, somehow
arrives home, brew still cold.

We toke, drink, eat all the treats.
I squeeze her tight again.