The Medusa Cement Company
When the truck went by,
red letters on a white
body caught my eye
and I froze, then cracked,
helpless with laughter,
making other drivers stare.
Who'd come up with a name
like that? A clown? Someone
who knew how it felt to be
petrified and still
could joke about turning
to stone? Or maybe
a novice, a virgin
who had never known
the gorgon face of love
that can stop you
dead in your tracks.
At the next light
I ease alongside, saying
"Hey buddy, give me a break,"
and he grins back as if he knows
whenever I see
a woman's hair in ringlets,
coiled, heaped, I begin
to tingle. I don't even try
to move. All I can do
is wait for the light
to change.
—Carl Lindner, New York City, NY
