Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus and Hera
Were left to run a Zeus-less issues-less
And where on the slopes the olive trees grow,
Other sundry chosen sons of Gods
To the daughters of Gods their energies show.
Where Zeus has digressed noone knows.
Walks an angry Hera to the games vault,
Touches with glee the thunderbolt.
Smirks to the reflection on the hand mirror,
Deftly picks up that tool of doom
And walks with quick step to a slight elevated corner.
Dionysus drinks a fine Bordeaux mixed
As per his wisdom, with a touch of ambrosia.
Chuckles in his dream of the fumes that he feels;
Watches Hera go pass him. Watches Hera heave
And ho! The gods stare and watch
The thunderbolt go. Poseidon sitting on a rock
With a nymph singing a song
And Artemis walking through the woods
With thin sliver and bong.
Watch the thunderbolt go and it lands
By a mortal — can’t say ‘land’, ts more like crack,
As it booms into the ground throwing the mortal on his back.
‘What the…” is all the mortal can say.
This queer God-fearing mortal falls on his knees to pray.
“Thank god — now that was a close shave!”
That’s the voice of relief
When in ignorance you keep,
Where the more assertive would have said “What the bleep”.
Wine dangling in his glass Dionysus walks up to the thrower:
“That was not too bad, Hera — slightly off target, though”.
Artemis walks the woods going where she would go.
Nymph watches the sedate Poseidon
Trident in hand
Sink slowly with the waves away from land.