Gorgon

‘Monitor me,’ she sighed, aloud;
when the screen came to life, ennui
vanished on a keystroke, and the mystical
flight into far-off realms resumed.

She typed MEDUSA, and faces of outrage,
haloed with snakes, peered deep
into… what? the windows of her soul,
her cyberfed, blush-free head?

Three hundred hits today, at noon.
Caravaggio washed her clean; a tap
brought up Rubens’ bloody tangle
and a blue prompt: respond respond

Discourse was not her strong suit.
I’M PETRIFIED, she managed, and felt the trope
fly at a thousand eyes. Eventually
...