I saw Chance the other day, slipping down a back alley, morning coffee in hand, a little worse for wear in last night's frock. Leftover mascara crumbled in the corners of her eyes that never stopped scanning the scene for those fickle bitches, the Fates. She was ready to kick their collective ass for once and always.
A jealous virgin goddess lauded for wisdom turned her freshly raped preistess into something that forever says Do not approach. When Medusa gets men hard with just a look, she commits. Keep in mind that Athena put the snakes on her head, not in them. Only an asshole like Zeus would do something like that.
Poseidon's no boy scout either (ask Medusa), and Apollo? Puh-leaze. I'd let Daphne address this one, but she's busy leaving.
What makes a god rape?
Blame the snake.
Did the gods create us in their image, or did we create them in ours?
Does it matter?
Come along, let's sing a song,
Let's all go to the canon,
Even Athena can't stop it
from taking what it will;
I double-dog-dare her
to stop snaking through my mind.
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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