Charybdis
Trapped in a spiral,
Spinning downwards,
Rushing, gushing,
Drowning.
Boats floating,
Sinking,
Crushing.
Sailors frenzying,
Rowing,
Screaming,
Dying.
Scylla’s laughter,
Scylla’s feast,
Blood everywhere,
Turning the waters red.
It’s very salty,
But salt festooned with copper.
I don’t like it.
Blood doesn’t taste good.
That lying old man,
Quick-tongued,
Like his great-grandfather.
He convinced a lot of people.
Made them think they could get away.
There’s no getting away.
There’s no escape from this doom.
There’s no tree branch above my pool.
Odysseus passed this way but once,
Before his crew marooned him
On that island they thought was deserted.
(If they’d known about Calypso,
They would have stayed,
And forced him to sail on!)
I don’t like that he blames their deaths on me.
If he ever comes this way again,
I’ll eat him.
I don’t like the taste of old man flesh,
But if it’s his,
I’ll enjoy it.
Athene won’t like it,
But I don’t care.
Hermes probably won’t like it, either,
But I still don’t care.
Poseidon will love it.
I’m fine with that.
Maybe he’ll start hanging out here more often.
(Goodness knows, he’s not picky
When it comes to mistresses…
I might not mind
A little light adultery
And giving birth
To the child of a god…)
Scylla thinks she’s all that.
But she’s not as good as me.
She can only kill seven men at a time.
I can kill thousands,
If they sail close enough.
Though I’d rather they didn’t.
I’d rather they just stayed out of our strait.
Wood doesn’t taste too good,
And blood tastes worse.
Drinking half the sea
Is bad enough by itself.
Why do men have to get in the way?
Dying,
Screaming,
Panicking,
Rowing,
Chomped by Scylla,
Amid screams and laughter.
Life should be better than this.
