Achilles

Myth’s river- where his mother dipped him,
fished him, a slippery golden boy-
flowed on, his name on its lips.
Without him, it was prophesied,
					    they would not take Troy.

Women hid him, concealed him in girls’ sarongs;
days of sweetmeats, spices, silver song...
							  but when Odysseus came,
with an athlete’s build, a sword and a shield,
he followed him to the battlefield,
the crowd’s roar,
			and it was sport, not war,
his charmed foot on the ball...

but then his heel, his heel, his heel...