Oh, Circe, did you suffer ill with loneliness
After Odysseus and his crew sailed onwards?
The bewitched beasts of your wood, no longer enough
To satisfy you after you finally knew the touch of man.
Violence, Odysseus springing upon you with his bronze blade.
You fattened the pigs in your stye with acorns and beech mast,
And with a wave of your wand, you transformed them into men.
They kept you company while you sang and worked the loom
Until they too yearned to take up oars and sail the emerald sea.
So, Circe, why the fuck did you let them sail unto our shores?
They lived among us, these pigs in the shape of men,
They played football in highschool.
They watched war movies with their fathers.
They failed the army’s physical fitness test.
They attended two-year police academies.
We gave them guns, and we taught them how to use them.
It was around this time that your magic came undone,
And they began to hunger for something they had only known as pigs.
Savaging. The urge a sow feels when she awakens
To her first farrow suckling at her teats.
The pigs who played basketball in our streets,
The pigs who signed their names on traffic reports,
The pigs who escorted us from our homes,
The pigs who lined up with body armor and riot shields,
The pigs who pretended to live and act like men,
They could not forget you, Circe, your songs and your loom,
Just as you could not forget Odysseus and his sword,
And when we could not replace you, they ate us alive—
Not even our teeth and bones remained.
Photo by Neenu Vimalkumar on Unsplash
