Gods in Suburbia: When Zeus Returns Home for Dinner

At the late afternoon hour

when sunlight oozes with pleasure

and dust glistens in sunshafts

wafting through the languid parlor

mingling with blue wisteria that dozes on windowsills

when my tranquil breath droops

ripe with poem and song

The door slams and

you enter

Now the sun strains

pulls taut with anticipation

of the contained fury

penetrating the house

electric and nauseous orange

like before the storm

Your face tight, limbs brusque

you rush and bluster

chest clenched

in breathless agitation

hands manic arrows

eyes marbled and eagle-fierce

your grey gaze hunts for its prey

Suddenly

I am the receptacle for your turmoil

I present you my trembling chalice

my spine fragile as its slim glass stem

my thoughts dispersing like vapor

We must follow where you lead,

our surly shepherd,

we, your quivering lambs

You have imprisoned yourself

in a box built of years

of nails and raw timber

splinters and sawdust

you lash out and bleed

you rage in your cage

holding us captive

in your world of wrath and right angles

So let’s sit down

and eat our daily meal

of spite and fear

Pour us your nectar of bitterness

we will consume it, dutifully

its broth boiling in our bellies

For decades we live like this

battle weary

you enfold your old wounds

in the fresh gauze of tyranny

your calloused heart

crushing our tender, fleshly centers

grinding us all to stone