Zeus, It’s Your Leda, Sweetie Pie
Zip up your toga, thunder thighs, that’s Hera
barking like Cerberus on amphetamines. I was a skeptic,
don’t you know, but you’ve got the equipment, as the
frigging king of the gods should. All the mortal gals are agog,
hinting for an invite to our next divine date, as if I
jump in your Cadillac, and we race toward a three-star snack,
lightning bolts setting the highway ablaze miles ahead. I’m
nervous about your wife. She blinded Teresias, and Apollo
plays possum when she’s around. Zeus, that’s your cue–
reassure me. Don’t think I want to move to Mt. Olympus.
Those relics are a snooze. Athena, there’s dust on her tutu,
Venus’s, too, so get a move on, or my Helen will wow
exactly no one and his horse. Let’s dillydally, Ding-Dong Daddy.
(first published in TriQuarterly 125)