Herpetarium Poem

It’s been written on the schedule for 10 years,
over in the corner for everyone to see.
It was your job to take a picture of it
to double verify the note for me.
I’m the only person on the list of people
that might kill you, no kicks.

Some graffiti was full of gossip about you
giving up on being useless and interesting.
You don’t read the reviews on principle,
like a stiff-lipped mixologist, meandering.
I’m the only one willing to buy potions
that might off you, no evidence bags pending.

The zoo has its own makeshift police force,
and they have early-morning meetings and chores.
There was some life lesson about Santa
I wanted to tell you at the herpetarium,
but it slipped my mind.

There’s a chance
that the north pole without the sun enhances
your other senses
to the point where the elves’ notion of self is severed.