The Great Greek poet
Recalling his nation's victories
Memorialised his heroes less than his enemies;
Hector and Priam,
Possessed and dispossessed,
Vanquished but vindicated.
And so the Trojan horse
Was a gift after all
For what it's worth.
For what it's worth
They think a woman wrote the story of Ulysses
Some bored housewife in Ithaca,
Imagining an epic husband,
And the temptations he resisted
To return and repel her many suitors,
Penelope of the suburbs.
And Orpheus' long descent into hell
Was clearly a ruse by Eurydice
To get his attention,
Which she certainly did,
Losing her by looking back
On the threshold of escape
A brilliant double bind catch
To ensure her image imprinted
Sinking into the darkness
For generations:
It's Eurydice we miss.
So the first poets weren't torn apart
By envious furies,
But by the split in their hearts
The fork of their fickleness
Where they built these tremendous