Wednesday, July 21, 2010
In Greece there’s a place called Meteora
where they sent
the bothersome ones, too pretty
and smart to live in the rural villages.
Coaxed, bribed and forced to live out their lives
on top of these
tall isolated rock needles.
So isolated that supplies were brought in
once a month
by mule and then
hauled across deep ravines in a bucket on a pulley
No escape from there.
No hope for those prissy little pussies
Sent off like baby lambs, married to this Christ character
And IN NAME ONLY
Not allowed to speak out loud for years at a time
Maybe some of them
waited for Apollo,
son of Zeus and Leto
to rain down on them
whet their appetites, soak them with his love.
Can you see them sitting there
waiting for some reprieve
from the kneeling and the prayer
the hours of singing the same old tired song.
Yeah--I’d lay odds
double or nothing
that they did a lot of
musing on their fate
planning their escape
Counting the days, plotting out
the location of the stars and the moon
till the next delivery.
Checking the rope
Eyeing up that bucket
figuring out how much weight it could hold
how much time it took to cross over the ravine
how much time before they were missed.
Of course the Greek men weren’t worried
They already knew
the most important factor
in this equation
Girls suck at Science and Math.
It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...