Wednesday, December 09, 2009
The Foothills Of Olympus
“There’s a rip in your stocking,” I said.
She said, “Yes, the gods will strike me dead
if I’m perfect. The gods get jealous.”
“I thought,” I said, “Zeus just gets zealous,
turns into a swan and then rapes you.”
“Hera finds out,” she said, “right on cue
and turns me into a flower or fish
or constellation as if my wish
was to get fucked, get raped, by a bird.”
For a bit we didn’t say a word.
I said, “Can I, umm, buy you dinner?”
“Are you Zeus looking for a sinner?”
“I can honestly say I’m no god.”
“Mortal’s good,” she said. “You get my nod.”