Do You Need Burnt Offerings, or Something?

The wife says she'll be back home late.
The love did not come in for work.
It snowed all day, and now it's dark,
A hand across my nose and mouth,
And I'm half drunk and suffocating.
Would that there was some god,
Somewhere in the air, who'd hear
My plea, and transport me to Mount
Olympus, hand me sandals and a
Lute, and point me toward some
Comely minor goddesses, who'd
Think me cute, and bring me cups
Of wine until I passed out, up on
Mount Olympus. Later, in the
Morning sun, I'd see my wife
Go back to work. My love would
Do the things she does. She wouldn't
Give a thought to me. The comely
Minor goddesses would come with
Eggs and toast, and such enthusiasm
For the ballads I'd play on my
Borrowed lute. I'd cease to feel
I'm suffocating. Snow would stop,
And my toes would not go numb
In my borrowed sandals. Life would
Mean something to me if there was
Some god somewhere in the air,
Who'd hear my plea.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 60 times
Written on 2016-01-27 at 00:21

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