*Forgot to post this. I think that is because I don't really like the poem and it isn't finished. I need to keep working on it.
I am too tall for the overhang.
My head continuously butts against
the fringed awning and rams into the door frames.
I carry - daily - fragiles discs on a plate
to hungry travelers with the grace of Bacchus
on a pre-festival binge.
Smiling and bowing,
speaking in tongues I wish I had never heard.
If I had never heard them, I could be dead
and that would be a blessing.
I rather curse with Charon
or barter with Hades under Tantalis's tree
than ask:
"How many?"
"Cafe or tea?"
"Inside or patio?"
"Dessert?"
I want to tear them apart, these arachnids
masking as humans
Stomp them out with fire
and let my vultures carry away their flesh
while my dogs gnaw on their bones.
Humilation of the worst kind
comes from betting against Hera.
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