The Old Gods Are Dying

Mon, 10/14/2019 - 21:09 -- Kcappa

Zeus lounges in the booth of a bar

Beard scraggly, teeth yellowed 

He smiles at women who sip vodka and martinis.

They smile back 

And clutch the pepper spray in their purse. 


Hephaestus tinkers in the seat of his backhoe loader 

His fingers bending and cranking 

The bell calls, and he’s on the clock again 

The scrap metal enters his pocket

Not to be taken out again. 


Hera sits between the legs of a woman 

Coaching every breath 

Until the crying is small, infantile. 

She hands the new life to the woman in the chair

And exits the room to cry, barren and cursed. 


Demeter mows her lawn 

The summer heat tanning her back. 

She longs for her daughter 

As the tulips bloom in the garden

And she wishes for fields of snow. 


Poseidon stands at the helm of a Port Lincoln 

Watching the net hurl in the catch for the day. 

A crew member slaps him on the back

And swears he catches the storm in his eyes. 

The boat churns, and the look disappears. 


Hades holds his head high, 

The world above him fading. 

He’s biding his time

You cannot kill a god, he whispers

But you can forget they ever were. 

This poem is about: 
Our world


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