Odysseus tacked for home, as wild
a scamp as ever dodged thunder
and lightning—till Poseidon spoiled
his fun and yanked him under.
I fished him out, I helped him steer
a damp hand up my nighty…
True love! Why must it end in tears?
Ask that tart, Aphrodite.
His little heart beat hard on mine.
He smothered it with kisses.
But where do you think his little mind
was? On the !@%#ing missus.
And yet—the day that my despair
hit rock bottom, God willing,
was the day he buggered off and bared
his double axe for killing
the suitors, doing what heroes do.
So Ithaca’s wrong was righted,
at a price—not very much, it’s true—
one minor goddess, slighted—
except I was that schlep Zeus burned
to sex up his fading glory.
Love sucks, and everywhere you turn
Fate screws you. End of story.