Medusa Man

Medusa Man

“Then Olwyn said
to me: ‘Do you want
to be a murderer?’”
—Judith Kroll, Chapters
in a Mythology: The
Poetry of Sylvia Plath

Death—has five fingers
A need to strangle—and kill
Fights and arguments—murders

Sylvia’s stooges—squeezing hard
Even after she’s dead—and gone
Ghastly Vatican eunuchs—hissing

Cobra communions—eely tentacles
Jellyfish—living off her royalties
Riding the whitecaps—of her fame

Dragging their—suicidal stigmata
Like an old—barnacled umbilicus
Behind them—fake Atlantic cable

Poor Ted—full of remorse
Paralyzed by—his ersatz guilt
Hoping nobody—will ever find out

Even tho—the oily tentacles
Are reaching out—feeling, sucking
He’s overexposed—like an X-ray

Men can be—Medusas too
Slick as Death—just one look
Even poet laureates—can lie