Member-only story
Circe is Bored — Part I
A poem of too much power in the wrong hands
Circe sat on a bluff looking out over the emerald ocean
drawing thought balloons on the sunset
Bored of the city where
she’d spent the afternoon
gamboling among pedestrians,
people frozen in awkward half-strides.
“Get moving!” she yelled, but they were mere statuary.
“Oh, that’s right,” she smirked. Freezing people in time
had been a real kick but it was beginning to wear thin
Circe had known the great Odysseus,
she the muse of his cosmic panache,
he, now hoisting sails to a solar wind
laying in a course beyond blue marble Earth.
She’d outgrown dear Ody and sent him off
to sail among frothy shoals in a sea of stars,
his destination as vague as a fledgling soul
The ball of Earth was hers alone, dull as it
was with people so damnably predictable,
and it seemed the pedestrians frozen in time
had begun to slump and crumble. She thought,
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have tampered
with the temporal codes. So sue me already.
