Helen & Menelaus
Here is the arrow’s scar,
still stiff, it goes straight through,
reminding me of you;
reminding me from far
years past of the men tossed
in arms, their faces stilled
in fright, not noble, just killed,
who won less than they lost.
Yet here I am: old man,
dry husk of brittle eyes,
blind ears, deaf mouth; I can
no longer lift the sword
that won my fickle prize
who turned upon a word.
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