My Weariness of Epic Proportions Poem by Charles Simic

I like it when
Achilles
Gets killed
And even his buddy Patroclus -
And that hothead Hector -
And the whole Greek and Trojan
Jeunesse dorée
Are 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
And of course she can
By that lovely little path
That winds through
The olive orchard