Clive is the ex-chairman of the Society who now lives in Suffolk, but remains a member. This poem was selected for Folio #72 in 2018. Asp Viper It must be newly dead. Its body turns, flexes as I lift it. The tongue curls still round a flake of scent - or is that my unsteady hand as I move it off the road? I want the snake to be alive: the kinked wishbones patterning its back, the taches like praying hands either side of its skull. I want to glimpse it disappearing, to know by a rustle of leaves that I am within inches. I want unreasonably, like a child, a townsman. By day three, the corpse is stiff, still looped as I left it, with fire bugs walking on its eyes.