The Great Greek poet

Recalling his nation's victories

Memorialised his heroes less than his enemies;

Hector and Priam,

Possessed and dispossessed, 

Vanquished but vindicated.

And so the Trojan horse

Was a gift after all

For what it's worth.

For what it's worth

They think a woman wrote the story of Ulysses

Some bored housewife in Ithaca, 

Imagining an epic husband,

And the temptations he resisted

To return and repel her many suitors,

Penelope of the suburbs. 

And Orpheus' long descent into hell

Was clearly a ruse by Eurydice

To get his attention,

Which she certainly did,

Losing her by looking back

On the threshold of escape

A  brilliant double bind catch

To ensure her image imprinted

Sinking into the darkness

For generations:

It's Eurydice we miss.  

So the first poets weren't torn apart

By envious furies,

But by the split in their hearts 

The fork of their fickleness

Where they built these tremendous