Curse of Medusa's Husband

By Bruce Boston

He lines their bedroom
with mirrors and their sex
becomes a multiple dance
he can observe from
every imaginable angle
except the direct one.

Cowering beneath
her writhing coiffure,
viewing their reflection
reflected to infinity,
he begins to question
the course of his passion.

He begins to suspect
in their group effect
his mirrors have become
more than mere glass
patinaed with silver,
that trapped among

spying and spied upon
visage he has become
no more than image:
some other prime lover
rules these corridors
of rebounding light.

Despite his specular
precautions and evasions,
each and every night
she continues to prevail.
Never once does she fail
to turn him to stone.