from (C)OVID'S METAMORPHOSIS, Book the Third

The Story of Cadmus

Make your bed, even during quarantine,
for your colleagues could see your slovenliness
in the background of your Google Hangout
& think even less of you than they already do.
Cleanliness is a step away from the heavenly
reward of a basket filled with chocolate
eggs, the best of which ooze a sugary cream.
Each time you place a marshmallow Peep
in the microwave, you are tempting the Fates
to pluck those molars from your mouth
& plant them in the stricken earth 
to grow an infernal candidate, long of tooth
& wide of grin; bathe his feet in oil 
lest he slip on a banana peel & tumble
like the zephyr-born eiderdown down
the marble stairs & into the waiting Prius.
Follow the pink moon into the serpent’s lair
& engage with meaningful discourse 
while the silos burn pretty in the fields.

The Transformation of Actaeon into a Stag

Lady, take off your Crocs & meet me 
in the shadowy grove.  I haven’t filed down
my horns since Beltane.  
A hound in the hand is worth 
a burning bush.  Stumble up
on the rustic shower scene 
while looking for the phone
you dropped on the way back
from the gastroenterologist. 
Madam, presently
I desire to be your dog.

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from (C)OVID'S METAMORPHOSIS, Book the Fifth

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