Sarpedon

Some read in bed.
I listen,
fall asleep to Homer's mayhem,
the tape on endless play
until I wake.
Achilles' wrath and grief I hear
in disjunct pieces,
fashioning the plot from many nights' beginnings.
Though once the poet,
perhaps disgruntled by my snippet listening,
played me an imp's trick:
A nightmare's murderous demon pinioned me and cooed,
'Hector has your arms.
Hector has your arms.”
I struggled, terrified, to waking,
only to hear Achilles' woe
at loss of friend and armor:
Hector had his arms, indeed,
and Homer had his laugh at my expense

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