And what on earth did she hope to gain?
Did she scale Mt. Olympus thinking
he would get to know her, hoping to rope
in the affection of this Zeus/Jove/Wodin, left
instead like Semele in the ashes of her dreams?
Maybe she was seeking the spiritual,
something beyond “having sex” the way
one might “have” a plate of mashed potatoes
or a goblet of ambrosial wine.
Maybe she, failing to divine
her own divinity, believed that union
with this man who would be king,
this candidate for god: doctor,
rock star, prominent family’s favorite son,
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, quarterback
of the football team, meant that she would blaze
in his glory, that he would take her in. Somehow
cause him to call out her name with caring,
captain of the team announcing to his fellow players
in the locker room before the next big game,
Listen you guys, I have met
the most incredible, warm, sweet, loving
generous, intelligent, human being.
Not in this world.
Instead she is left to cringe in his shadow
as he does not speak to her, pretends not to see her
in the hall of the gods the next day at school,
laughing and roughhousing, the thin cruel iron
of his chariot wheel, his unbreachable circle of friends.