DNA Knows Best
by Marvin R. Hiemstra
of blood spilled when Medusa lost
her head. Medusa was pregnant
by Poseidon. How noir can you get?
Late 1960s I met Medusa: love at first sight. All low
tech and playing in a waterfall, she wore a halo
of her snakes’ number one favorite, anchovy/cheesy
bits. That girl could twist it. What a dance partner!
Faux Medusa I just met spits forked-tongue poems:
her words do a Bette Davis before breakfast hiss!
I miss the snakes: they had rhythm. This Medusa’s
poems blog where it hurts the most. Sangria helps.
Never click on a poem that bites you, wiggles its tail,
slithers off. Web is a word pit. Don’t be an ass like Eve.
If deceived, stand on your head and grin like crazy. Then
go to www.pegasusdna.ouch: tie one on, tackle an epic.