in its autumn constellation, above precise assemblages
of trees, their orderly sorrow, of changing leaves,
in the middle of a continent, paw paw, basswood,
hawthorn, ash.
Charles Simic
MY WEARINESS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS
I like it when
Achilles
gets killed
and even unfortunate
Hector
and that sad monster
Agamemnon
and the entire Greek
and Trojan
jeunesse doree
is more or less
expertly slaughtered
so there's finally
peace and quiet
(the gods having momentarily
shut up)
one can hear
a bird sing
and a daughter ask her mother
whether she can go to the well
