The Blinding Of Polyphemus Poem by robert dickerson

Discoid, huge, shining like the sun
redder, though, and far more irritated
shocking to see, pulsing, infiltrated,
starred with veins and veins,
the one sole eye of Polyphemus shone
wicked, hippic
and dilated with the drink it had absorbed-
hooded, half, in drowsy-drunken slumber.
The cave, the cave stank of sheeps' dung and nard
and shook, shook with the grumblings of thunder
while the fire higher burned
fed by the mast they'd sharpened and prepared,
and when it closed in full he gave the word:
seven men (it took at least that many)
hoisted the pike and starting from the rear
swallowing their fear
ran with gathering steam against the heavy
lidded orb, buryin the fired point
like a fork into a melon
into the sinkhole of light on which, therefore,
darkness closed forever-
life would be better from now on.
Then with a ruse that every child knows
each a-clutch a rams' wooley belly
escaped to the ship
and sailed over the horizon;
Yet he couldn't resist a backward quip
even to the backwards son of Neptune
he was the Ulysses, after all, deft and clever,
and thinking perhaps of Penelope's
weaving arms, one better
answered the tyrants' vain enquiries:
No one did it! Check the spelling. No one!