Zeus lounges in the booth of a bar
Beard scraggly, teeth yellowed
He smiles at women who sip vodka and martinis.
They smile back
And clutch the pepper spray in their purse.
Hephaestus tinkers in the seat of his backhoe loader
His fingers bending and cranking
The bell calls, and he’s on the clock again
The scrap metal enters his pocket
Not to be taken out again.
Hera sits between the legs of a woman
Coaching every breath
Until the crying is small, infantile.
She hands the new life to the woman in the chair
And exits the room to cry, barren and cursed.
Demeter mows her lawn
The summer heat tanning her back.
She longs for her daughter
As the tulips bloom in the garden
And she wishes for fields of snow.
Poseidon stands at the helm of a Port Lincoln
Watching the net hurl in the catch for the day.
A crew member slaps him on the back
And swears he catches the storm in his eyes.
The boat churns, and the look disappears.
Hades holds his head high,
The world above him fading.
He’s biding his time
You cannot kill a god, he whispers
But you can forget they ever were.