to keep away from. The afternoon had burned
his bald spot long before his brooding ended.
His nephew in the queen’s control portended
his undoing, but he couldn’t find a way
to say no safely. (Reader, emigre
existence isn’t easy; please stay home.)
He told his nephew that Deucalion
now was incapable of having fun
without his dear friend Talos, so the queen
invited him to ditch his dull routine
at uncle’s workshop and come live with her.
Though it might be hard at first, you’ll soon prefer
their company to mine. Yet once a day
I’ll visit you. Be careful what you say:
Between the Scylla of a chatterbox
and the Charybdis of a quiet fox
pilot your reputation. Learn from me:
when I can’t evade a royal colloquy,
I shift my focus to determining
what they desire. When in doubt, I sing
their praises, and that almost never fails. . . .
Don’t let me hear that you’ve been telling tales.
The bronze colossus of the brainless king
grew larger. Daedalus was trembling,
and tears wormed through his beard. His nephew broke
out of his arms and ran. The king’s bronze cloak
briefly smeared its shadow on the boy
ditching the workshop for palatial joy.
Pasiphaë reminded Talos what
affection felt like. Efforts to rebut
her gentle inquiries were counteracted:
plied with honey-biscuits and protracted
tickling sessions in the queen’s plush bed,
Talos, laugh by laugh, dislodged the dread
life with his uncle fostered. Soon she knew
all their secrets. The private interview
Daedalus dreaded loomed. He could not run.
The queen began: Poor Daedalus, your “son”
has told me what horrendous things you’ve done.
If Minos knew, he’d reinvent archaic
tortures to punish you. The floor mosaic
received a tribute of Athenian blood
and tears and slobber, but a stuttered thud
was all the thanks the flattened oxen gave.
She didn’t need another mangled slave,
but an engineer with an unbruised brain:
O Daedalus, your secrets will remain
my secrets, but you need to put your learning
to work on my behalf. A shameful yearning
(something I know you’ll pity) made me use
Talos to teach you that you can’t refuse
to help me. So the queen narrated how
she started yearning to become a cow
and what strange grief befell her when the bull
ignored her passion. If she couldn’t pull
this passion out of her too-human flesh,
perhaps a supplement would help her mesh
with her beloved’s lust. Although I’ve prayed,
it’s come to nothing. I need your godless aid:
construct a gadget to entice my love.
He saw her as a hand inside a glove.
He went back home with Talos to confect
a hollow cow no bull could ever reject.