Medusa Reads Hesiod’s Theogony at the Bullsboro Golden Corral

She thinks she will stay here all day,

her book hidden under a nylon blend napkin.


The vat of chicken livers is hourly restored;

the iced tea mercifully unending.


There is cake. There are coconut macaroons

and a perpetual chocolate fountain.


She thinks this is enough.

Enough to still the fluttering


at the base of her tongue. Enough

to feed all Zeus’s hungry issue.


In the kitchen, Prometheus robes the bones

in glistening fat, and Midas surveys


the squash casserole, the catfish crisp

and banked in careful knolls, the yeast rolls


soft as pillows and sweet as sleep.