Kneeling silent
amidst a slither
of hissing snakes
he feels them coil
within his hair
encircle his brow
ride over eyes
brush lips
chase twitching tails
around his neck
and slide down
to tightly twine
like ivy vines
arms and chest
crotch and legs
then glide around
the knees and calves
to rope his ankles
in this den
he’d dug for them
when he was seven
For years Ralph La Rosa taught poetry, but it seemed so mysterious he never thought of writing it. He got over that and late in life has found how much he enjoys the challenge and pleasure of creating it.