Cyclops

“Stranger, you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they.”—Polyphemus

You’d like to think
me Οὖτις,
no one of consequence,
a mere Fool, lost
in the wilderness,
but you’d be wrong.

You are the one
unworthy to be
my rival, my equal,
my superior.

I may be Nobody,
but you are nothing,
nothing but an uncouth
cyclops feeding
from my crew,
coveting what is mine.

I pity you, Polyphemus
condemned to see
the world through
a hub, only fit
to cast straightforward
glances, always
missing the periphery,
blind to the Universe
outside of your myopic 
vision. 

Narrow vision leads
to a narrow mind.

& it will take nothing
but my guile
to intoxicate you,
to drive my spear
through that eye,
blind you so that even
your savage world
goes black.

Throw stones,
if you must,
curse Nobody
as if it were my name,
cry to the Gods
you have no faith in, 
shout for your father,
that wrathful Poseidon;
it will not help
your cause.

As you draw the spear
from your eye,
I will already be flying,
sailing back to my dear
Penelope. 

I will climb
the topmast
& reveal 
my true name,
you will know it,
and say it,
& curse Creation.

Cursed, perhaps
I’ll be, but I can’t
let you trap me,
even your father—
Tosser of Tempests—
can only delay
me. Nothing
can stop me,
keep me
from returning
home, returning
to the arms
of my sweet
Penelope.