Song of Cyclops

MO: Writings from the River, Issue 1 Volume I, page 46

I’m tired. Why sing when there’s no one
To sing to? Everyone knows me; I’m “famous”.
But no one wants to listen. Why is that?
So I got one “round eye”. So I never cut my hair.

I used to sing. Played music too. Especially
When I was in love with that sea nymph Galatea. But she toyed with me!
Someone stole my pain for his own damn gain.
So I picked up a boulder and smashed his head.

Story goes, this heartbreak of mine made me
A mean monster who loved to eat people. That’s bullshit.
Yes, I eat people. I like people. They’re tasty.
You never took a bite of beef, fish, chicken? It’s all meat, man.

One night I came home to find a pile of people
Resting in my cave. Enough to feed me for a week.
I ate two for dinner, two for breakfast. I came home
And ate two more again. Then they got me drunk.

Wine makes me weak. “What’s your name?”
I asked the leader. “No one” he said, trying to trick me.
It worked. I was dozing off when I felt a hot poker driving
Through my eye. The bonehead blinded me.

Man, I screamed so loud my friends came running, asking,
“Who hurt you?” All I could say was “no one”. So they walked away.
Then the men escaped by hiding under my sheep.
I prayed Poseidon would take revenge. I hear he took it.

Eyeless. That’s when I became really, too damn tired.

Religion and Spirituality

Writing Tomorrow's Poetry Today