Photo by Sanasar Tovmasyan on Unsplash
Your chariot took flight,
your slain children’s blood
raining down on their father
who betrayed you
after making a traitor of you
Who could trust a man like that,
always on the take?
He must have been
Odysseus between the sheets,
between your thighs.
Did the blood of his children
slake your thirst
for revenge
or whet it?
I hope you kept
some of that
fabulous wool.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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