MARS AND VENUS MEET IN LEO, JULY 2021
Mars had checked off all the boxes 
had run a load of laundry—no, two 
groceries were in; dog walked, fed 
he’d even clipped his nose hair 
(Mars’, not the dog’s) 
had set his phone, email to auto-response 
out of the office, returning Monday 
air conditioning made July night bearable 
drinks mixed, ice tinkled 
pizza ready to fire later 
Mars peeked into the mirror 
checked his hair, grinned at himself 
arranged his long, toned legs on the sofa 
refrained from drumming his fingers 
door pushed open, cloud of humidity escaped 
despite whirring bathroom fan 
fresh-washed hair subtly perfumed, cheeks flushed 
Venus sang, bring me a drink? 
Mars handed her the cocktail with a grin 
she sipped, rolled her eyes at the steam 
grabbed a plush towel, walked into the living room 
spread her towel on the sofa next to Mars... 
ONE DAY AT A TIME
pale winter sun foretells spring 
gulls hunt inland on the river 
December’s trees droop still-green leaves 
soon to drop in icy rain 
leaving thin, black branches shivering 
 SUMMER ECLIPSES, 2021 
felt around the edges 
like twilight seeping in 
like a quake’s jittery first rumbles 
as the full lunar eclipse ended May 
I tore through my “to-do” list 
Mercury retrograde set me reaching 
for sugar instead of salt 
and now suddenly, June’s solar eclipse 
creates all the time needed 
time to take photos 
of southern magnolias 
whose petals, creamy giant tears 
fill morning air with pure sweetness 
time to close my eyes, just ten minutes 
becoming a two-hour nap, dead to the world 
prior certainties feel nebulous, plans change 
breathe in and out, let go 
wait here for the mists to clear
Today’s LittleNip:
AT THE BUS STOP DURING A PANDEMIC 
—Ann Wehrman
lockdown—fewer cars 
sky swept clean 
fluffy white puffs carry gray rain 
sun glows through strands of 
latticed black branches 
nibbed to their tips 
with uniform, tight, black buds 
_____________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to Ann Wehrman and Chris Feldman for today’s fine collaboration! They were reaching for sugar, and they got it!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by 
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x 
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal? 
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published. 
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
 





