Parnassus Lll Poem by Morgan Michaels

Late in the afternoon they reached the top- strangely recognizable, even though there was no sign that said 'the top' and there was nobody else around. They caught their breath and separated, each to say his own prayer to the top and in his own words. The sun was midway down the sky and the land was devoid of all but the driest shrub. Billy sat down on a rock and took a wrinkled Homer from his back-pack. He had saved up the 'Death Of Hector' bit for a special time, and the time was special, now. Eagerly his eyes lapped the words that told the tragic tale, and at the time when Achilles threaded the tether through the heels of the dead man in order to drag him in the dust, a squadron of jet planes appeared overhead from the east and broke the sound barrier, and the mountaintop shook. Something was happening in Athens. But they saw no Muses and heard no music- there was only the sound of the wind and the brief thunder of the jets, whose trails resembled the strings of a lyre, sort of. Then, they turned around.